Stripped Raw

by Miss Merikan

  Sam walked over to the common room. The two leather sofas were back from the banishment at the walls and again stood in the middle of the lounge, facing a huge flat screen TV. St Nick, Monster’s actual father, was dozing off on one of them. He really did look like the leather bar version of Santa, especially now that he was passed out in a drunken slumber.

  A few of the girls were already up and tidying the space. Sam couldn’t help but let his gaze linger on St. Nick’s favorite hangaround, Lola, who was on her knees, washing the tiles without her top on, in just a pair of denim hot pants.

  He walked past her and into the large kitchen, which was bustling with girls cooking. Borg was the only man in the whole room, and in the cheerful atmosphere, he seemed like a statue, looking through something on his cell phone. There were two dirty platters in front of him, and a small heap of leftover hash brownies.

  “Hey there, Sam!” Trudy, a pretty little hangaround, greeted him with a smile. The girl had been hovering around him for a while now, but seeing her so interested actually put Sam off. He didn’t want to be a heartbreaker, and he was not about to settle down with an old lady.

  Borg acknowledged Sam with a nod.

  “Want me to cook up some breakfast?” asked Gina, and pulled her long red hair into a loose bun. A former beauty queen, banned from pageants because of some adult material that leaked at the brink of her career, she was still stunning, even if in a more rocker chick way. Sam didn’t like her old photos anyway, as she used to look like a Fox News anchor.

  “You’re an angel, mommy,” he said, instantly cowering his head from a playful slap. It was a joke between them, and in fact, if there was a club-associated woman he could vaguely call his friend, it was she. Borg didn’t seem to mind them spending time together, apparently trusting Sam not to cross any boundaries.

  “Candy was asking about you last night …” Gina said, but it was neither a question, nor a statement.

  Trudy instantly butted in from her spot at the sink. “I was so shocked to see that tramp stamp on her ass.”

  Sam scowled, keeping his eyes on Gina’s, always framed with perfectly drawn black eyeliner. His heart skipped a beat. Looked like Candy didn’t just have fun with someone else and leave with them. “Yeah?” he asked, trying to sound casual as he got himself a glass of water.

  “She looks like a Goody two-shoes—” Trudy continued, but Gina stopped her.

  “But she seems nice. She hung out with us later and chilled out. Red Jack hid her dress, but I found her something to wear, so she wouldn’t flash her boobs at everyone.” Gina laughed and threw a few eggs into a pan along with chopped-up vegetables.

  “Fucker. He lost the fucking game,” growled Sam, slowly stroking the tabletop next to the stove.

  “What game?” Trudy pushed her hair behind her ear.

  “Guy game,” said Sam, wishing her away. Weren’t there any guys up for a mid-day blowjob since she was here? “Where did she stay?” he asked, already imagining Red Jack wooing her to his room. If the fucker broke the game rules, Sam would smash his fucking teeth in!

  “Glock got a prospect to take her home, because she drank too much to drive. She asked me to pass this on to you.” Gina smirked and pulled out a business card. She put it on the table in front of Sam. It stated: ‘Candygirl - for all your confectionary needs.’ It included Candy’s real name, her website, and a phone number.

  Sam took the card, stroking the pink- and mint-colored piece of cardboard. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said and put the card into a pocket in his cut. He’d rather die than admit it, but he was aching to smell it. Would it be the same vanilla that Candy carried around wherever she went? A pleasant buzz spread through his body, and he cleared his throat.

  “I’ll speak to Borg,” he excused himself, walking over to the club president, who spared Sam a glance when he sat down in front of him.

  Borg picked up a thick letter from the table. “You know this person? The same last name,” he said, and showed the envelope to Sam.

  Samantha Jackson. It was like a kick in the teeth. No, he never knew this person. Samantha was just this weird construct that had been imposed on him since early childhood. He had no idea how the sender found this address, but if they didn’t have the decency to use Samson’s legal name, he would not spare them any of his time.

  “Nah,” he said, just like the last time, when a similar letter was delivered a month ago.

  Borg lit himself a cigarette, as Gina put a breakfast wrap with eggs and vegetables in front of Sam. “Someone must have a wrong address because your name’s so similar. I was asking around, because it looks like some serious lawyer shit. Just get rid of it later, I’ve got more important things to do.” Borg slid the letter to Sam over the table. “Girls?” As soon as all the faces turned his way, he pointed to the door. “Gina, can you call Glock and Viper in?”

  She pouted and gently squeezed Borg’s shoulder. “Will you talk to them about Adriana’s husband? That black eye was so bad I could see it under her makeup.”

  Sam frowned, but Borg sighed and raised his eyes at her. “She’d be better off if she just left him. We’re not the fucking social services.”

  Gina leaned down and kissed him once more, her long hair obscuring Borg from Sam’s view, but it only lasted a moment, and whatever it was that Gina whispered into Borg’s ear, it left him with a crooked smile.

  Sam sat back and dug in as all the women left the kitchen. Borg drank some coffee from his mug.

  “Is this about the dead transport route?” asked Sam, chewing the first bite of the wrap. The local police was cracking down on the Coffin Nails, and many of their distributors had been arrested, including St. Nick’s oldest son, Doc. With so many eyes on them now, the enterprise was suffering, and it wasn’t a secret that they needed to come up with a plan, and fast.

  “Yep.” Borg looked up from his phone. “We’ve got pills and powder we can’t move from the secure location, ‘cause no one wants to mule it. There’s too many eyes on us since Paulson got all fucking straight and narrow.”

  Sam’s eyes strayed to the damn envelope as he chewed, but Glock’s loud stomping took his attention back to what was going on around him. Viper came in last and closed the door. The vice president was young but attentive and dangerous as the animal he’d been named after. Wiry and strong, he did move like the real thing. Just like Borg, Viper had his charm while being utterly terrifying to civilians. His handsome face was framed by the tattoo of a colorful snake, eyes wide open on Viper’s bald head, spiky fangs curling on the skin of his throat and jaw. And since Sam had seen Viper naked, he knew the tattoo went all the way down his back and ended with the tail curled around his calf.

  “What’s up, prez?” Viper asked and took half of Sam’s wrap as he sat by the table.

  Glock took his place opposite Viper, and they were set for a serious, though unofficial, discussion.

  Borg finished his coffee and leaned back in the chair. “Just yesterday, we lost two more mules. This happened during the party.”

  Glock’s chest sank with the growl he made. “They have an insider.”

  Viper swallowed a bit of the tortilla, though the idea that the Nails had a rat made him look like he was about to spit it out. “Borg screens everyone,” he said.

  Sam bit his lip. “Doc was the first one arrested. You don’t think he’s talking?” He raised his eyes at Borg, who rested most of his weight on the arm he propped on one of the armrests. His mouth twitched, making the skin of his scar stretch.

  Glock raised both his hands. “Hell no. He’s been a part of the club for years, even before we patched him in.”

  Viper nodded. “I got intel from the case they’re putting against him, and apparently he refused to say where he got the pills from.”

  Glock gritted his teeth. “Fucking Paulson. We used to have such a romantic relationship with him, and that’s how he pays us back after all those years!”

  Viper shrugged. “He wouldn’t
have soured if you didn’t have Monster deal with his partner.”

  Glock glared at him, his neck tensing like an aggressive dog’s. “The pig was all over us!”

  “And now we have Paulson and the whole department on our backs. He won’t take no money anymore.”

  Borg looked at his phone again, and his eyes went wide. “Fuck. There’s three cops heading into the compound, and they have a warrant,” he hissed, jumping to his feet.

  Glock reached his giant arm to the middle of the table and snatched one of the brownies. He forced the whole thing into his mouth, and Sam waited no further, following his lead. The cake needed to go. The dough was sticking to his teeth, and since he pushed in too much, he had trouble chewing. Viper seemed to have swallowed a whole un-chewed piece, as he was now thudding on his chest, between the collarbones, with a glint of wetness in one eye. Borg joined in, stuffing one down his throat. Sam focused on swallowing, which turned out painful with so much gooey dough, but as soon as the brownie was gone from his mouth, he reached for another one, fortunately the last on the plate. They could already hear confident steps behind the kitchen door as Sam chewed the damn thing. Glock opened a can of Coke and started aggressively swallowing to wash down all the contraband. Sam rushed to the sink and switched on the water. He eased the burn in his throat by drinking straight from the faucet.

  The door opened, and two uniformed policemen marched in, frowning. Borg coughed, taking the can away from Glock and emptying it. “You have invitations, gentlemen?” he asked, tossing it into the open trash can.

  Sam frowned, hoping the high wouldn’t kick in too soon. Fuck.

  The young-looking face of a forty-something police officer was all too familiar to the Coffin Nails. Paulson showed off the gap between his front teeth as he smiled. “I wouldn’t dare barge in uninvited,” he said, showing off a warrant. When Sam pulled away from the faucet, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, he could clearly see the stream of officers pouring into their lounge. Lola rushed through the corridor, holding the cloth she just used to scrub the floor in front of her tits.

  Borg leaned back in his chair. “So what is this early morning party about?”

  Paulson gestured to the other officer, who kept Sam’s gaze for all of three seconds before walking toward the staircase. In the background, everyone gathered in the lounge was herded outside and searched at the exit. Sam gulped. If they were busted for a small quantity of narcotics used at a private party, the chapter would be the laughingstock of the whole club. And dealings with Paulson stopped being pleasant, so offering him compensation for casting a blind eye was not an option anymore.

  He shrugged, taking Sam’s seat across from Borg. “A concerned citizen called us a few hours ago about you behaving like baboons on crack.”

  Viper frowned. “A few hours? That’s how easy it is to get a warrant when someone complains these days?”

  Borg put his hands in his pockets, drilling his gaze into Paulson. “Cut the bullshit. It’s not about that at all, is it? To think that we used to be on such good terms.”

  Paulson snorted. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. We might have been on decent terms when I still thought you were a legit association of motorcycle enthusiasts. I’ve been young and stupid.”

  He was lying, of course. Just a few years ago, Paulson was one of the go-to cops when ground was burning beneath their feet. Sadly, getting rid of him would change nothing because a warrant didn’t come from someone just complaining.

  “You’re prejudiced against us,” bullshitted Glock.

  “I know what this is about …” Borg made a fake concerned face. “You know that searching this place won’t bring your partner back. Such a shame about him.” He lowered his voice. “You two had a thing, right?”

  Glock bit back a laugh and looked through the window at the officers carrying out some boxes. God, there would be so much stuff to do after those fuckers were gone.

  Paulson’s face tightened, and he grabbed a knife from the windowsill. He put the edge against the table and started rotating it like a drill. “The man’s dead, you dirty fucker. Show some respect.”

  Borg raised his hands defensively. “I’m all for gay rights. I was trying to be supportive.”

  Paulson made an ugly sneer and rapidly stabbed the knife into the wood, getting to his feet. “You’re gonna have a different perspective on taking it up the ass when you join Doc in jail.”

  Chapter 4

  An extra shift at the diner wasn’t the most pleasant thing while being hung over, but Jolie couldn’t say no to the money, so she did her makeup, wore her uniform, and smiled as if she hadn’t had a wild night out that ended up with her coming home in someone else’s clothes.

  After work, she was so tired she didn’t even bother changing out of the uniform that consisted of a short blue skirt on several petticoats, and a tight T-shirt with pearls on the low-cut neckline and a print of a poodle. Jolie actually liked the getup, since the retro look was her thing. She curled her hair, wore flowers or bows in it. She wore fancy stockings and heels. The job itself though was tiresome, and her boss always peeked up her skirt when she climbed up the spiral staircase to the first floor.

  When she reached the staircase in her apartment building, just looking at it made her feet ache so badly that she pulled her shoes off and started the slow climb to the second floor in just her stockings. And the cold floor was just what her feet needed, cooling down the burn of several hours walking around. A middle-aged woman she vaguely recognized rushed past her with a scowl, and Jolie wondered what it was about, but she decided she didn’t care enough to ask. Maybe she had a big fat spot of ketchup somewhere, who knew?

  But Jolie froze the moment she walked into the corridor leading to her apartment. Sam was half-sitting, half-lying across the walkway with his back against her door.

  “Um … Sam?” she muttered, approaching him slowly. “Are you all right?” Was he angry about yesterday? That she went off to splash about in the ocean? He did disappear after that.

  His eyes popped open, and he propped himself up with one hand, dragging himself up with so much effort it looked as if there was something holding him back.

  “Candy, where have you been, darlin’?” he asked with a somewhat goofy smile.

  “At work. Sam, are you still drunk, or something?” Jolie got to the door, close enough to Sam to feel the warmth of his body. After a whole day of going over it in her head, she decided that the best policy, as to what had happened yesterday, was to pretend it never did.

  Sam turned and pressed his face against her thighs, looking up underneath her skirt. “Oh, wow. Your legs are so long,” he muttered, petting her calf. Warm breath was penetrating the thin fabric of Jolie’s stockings and caressing her skin.

  Jolie squealed, unable to fit the key in the lock fast enough. This was the last thing she wanted her neighbors to see. “Get up,” she hissed and slapped the side of his head before pushing her skirt against her ass to cover it better.

  “Baby, why you so sour?” Sam scowled and presented her a bundle of irises and daffodils. Roughly put together and uneven, they looked like he plucked them in someone’s garden on the way here.

  “You disappear from the party, and then you make a scene in my corridor? I barely know you.” She managed to open the door and stepped into her apartment.

  “And you have someone’s name all over your ass,” muttered Sam, following her with the sorry excuse for a bouquet.

  Jolie swallowed and snatched the flowers out of his hand. She wanted to feel wild and free yesterday. Didn’t she deserve some fun? But it looked like the bad decision she’d made two years ago would haunt her for the rest of her life. “If you hate it so much, then why are you here?” She walked over to the kitchen under the pretense of getting a vase, but really, she just wanted to turn around so Sam wouldn’t see how much hearing that upset her.

  He shut the door. “I was thinking that if you were to have mine, we’d have to think o
f a way to make it symmetrical.”

  Jolie looked back at him with a groan. “I will not be discussing this,” she said in the voice she used for rude customers. “You are unbelievable.”

  Sam grinned at her and walked up to the fridge. His eyes were so red in the lamplight that Jolie already knew what was up. “And charming?”

  “And high.” She exhaled deeply in resignation. What did she get herself into? Okay, so she got carried away in the heat of the moment and let him touch her, but he himself said that he wasn’t looking for anything serious.

  “And high,” he agreed, frowning at the contents of her fridge before taking out a chocolate cake she tried out before going to the party. “Hallelujah! Did I overdose and go to heaven?” he asked with glee.

  Jolie shook her head and gave up. Sam was too cute for words, and she had to admit it to herself. Admitting you had a problem was the first step to fixing it. “Sure, help yourself,” she said and sat down on the small sofa, watching him with one eyebrow raised.

  Sam made a fist pump and opened all of her drawers, finally finding the fork he was looking for. “I heard Red Jack was coming on to you quite strong,” he said as if he hadn’t done the same thing since they met.

  “He’s kinda cute, I suppose,” Jolie said just to see his reaction.

  Sam blinked and opened his mouth to speak, but the first syllable turned into a yelp when he stumbled over his own foot and fell to his knee with a scowl of pain. The cake remained intact.

  “Christ, Sam!” Jolie jumped to her feet and scooted by him. “What are you doing? Maybe you should sit down, huh?”

  He got to his feet, stuck the fork in the center of the cake, as if it were the perfect topper, and scratched his head. “You didn’t seem to like him before you saw his dick. He’s a fucktard, you know? And he’s ginger. You know what they say about gingers, right?”

  Jolie closed her eyes and counted to five. “No, what do they say about gingers?”

  Sam pulled out a massive bite of the cake from the middle and stuffed it into his mouth. “You have a soul. I have a soul. He doesn’t. He came to the world to set the record in fucking as many chicks as he can. No joke! He probably has syphilis, or some shit like that.”