by Maren Smith
“Why are we here?” I throw my leg over the back of the bike, getting off while Slash holds the heavy machine between his thighs. He does the same, being a little shorter than Python he doesn’t throw his leg over the front bars. “What’s wrong with our usual exchange place?”
Slash only shoots me an impatient look as if I have no right to question him or anyone else from Satan’s Ransom. It makes anger bubble inside me. Anger is good. Much better than fear.
“Let’s go.” Slash’s voice is barely above a growl and he grabs my arm, giving me a shove toward the small side door of a separate ramshackle garage with peeling paint.
Python’s inside. He opens the door, looks around, and nods us in. “Preach is in the back.”
I try to find Python’s eyes, but he avoids my searching look and doesn’t follow us into the living room. I plop down in the same spot as before and open my purse to pull out the bills I withdrew from my bank account on my lunch break. It’s a wad of twenties, several fifties and hundreds. As I count out the bills, I wonder, as I often do, how much money the drugs I dumped actually cost. I’ve asked before but I never get an answer. Preacher only grabs my face roughly and explains he’ll tell me when my due is up.
But even with that response, I’ve kept track. I pull out a little black notebook and write the number in the book. I’ll add it up later but for now the number is written in black ink.
Slash throws himself into the chair, hunches down, and pulls out his cell phone.
“So, uh, can we get this done or what?” I wave the bills in my hand and sigh impatiently. “I’m missing work and that’s going to short my pay.”
Slash’s eyes move up to find mine and his lip curls. “Go fucking get me a beer. Make yourself useful.”
I grit my teeth, shove the bills back in my bag and storm to the kitchen. Slash moves swiftly and I realize my mistake. Maybe they haven’t done much more than threaten me before now but it’s clear they’ll do more than that when provoked. He grabs my hair and yanks me back. I’m thrown off balance and stumble, but he holds me in the awkward bent back position, as if I’m in a dance-dip but my partner only supports my weight with his fist in my hair.
I grab for him, a shriek bursting from me but I swallow it quickly. With the precarious position, my feet scramble for better purchase and a yelp dies on my lips as he gets in my face. Slash is so close I can see each individual hair on his face, finer than they should be on a man his age. But the last thing I want to show is fear so again, I harden my expression. Maybe it’s stupid and I should beg for mercy, but if I learned anything from living in the system, it’s that begging never works and showing no fear has a fifty-fifty chance.
“Don’t fucking think I won’t slice your pretty face to ribbons. Show me some fucking respect.”
I grit my teeth in pain and tears prick my eyes as he shakes me, yanking my hair so hard my scalp burns. My eyes go wide when he pulls out his knife. His cruel smile and narrowed blue eyes have my lips trembling despite my attempt to press them. He traces my face with the handle, but after a moment he flips the blades open with a clack and I squeeze my eyes tight, my heart pounding, bile rising.
“Put her the fuck down.” It’s Python’s voice, and one I never thought could bring such relief. He wraps a supportive arm around my back and lifts me up. The fist burning against my skull releases.
“You fucking lay a hand on her again without orders and I’ll fucking rip your head off.” The big man’s arm is the only thing holding my trembling body upright, and Slash’s eyes flash anger, hate even. His nostrils flare like a bull’s but he finally backs down, shooting me a warning look that says we’ll finish this another time.
“There’s water in the fridge. Get yourself a bottle.” Python pushes me gently from under his arm toward the kitchen. My heart is still pounding loudly in my ears, so I can’t quite make out their whispers from the next room. Or maybe it’s not that I can’t hear, but that my brain is too overwhelmed, screaming will I survive?
The kitchen is brown and yellow with faded, peeling linoleum and a speckled yellow and brown Formica table with chrome legs. The chairs match, with brown pleather seats, although they may have actually been yellow at one time and they’re cracked with age.
I glance at the yellow appliances, crocheted tea towels and pot holders and decide this must have been someone’s grandmother’s house. Opening the fridge, I look for the water. There are beer cans filling the whole top shelf. It’s some off brand I’ve never seen. Not that I really know beer. I don’t touch alcohol after growing up in a place where it was more of a staple than bread.
As I think about it, a memory assaults me. The breakfast table is scattered with mostly empty beer cans and ashtrays overflowing with butts. The stale smell of both lingers with the sick smell of sweaty bodies sleeping it off on the couches in the next room. Gage and I eat the crusts of last night’s party pizza left in the box, our bellies happy to have anything in them at all, even a stranger’s tossed off crusts.
I shake off the imagery, reminding myself how far I’ve come from that moment and grab a bottle of water. The counter has food on it. Several bags of cheese puffs, a huge bag of those caramel candies old people like, and pudding—bloody butterscotch. I almost laugh but stop myself as Preacher’s voice rings out.
“Where is she?”
They must point because I only hear silence until Preacher speaks again.
“Get your skinny ass out here and stop gawking in Python’s fridge.”
I gather a breath, reminding myself again, I’m a vet tech, a taxpayer and law-abiding citizen, better than these assholes, and I will make it through this. I’m a survivor. Then I walk out, back straight, head held high.
“Gage is missing.” Preacher says with a deep frown and flashing eyes. “He took off from the rehab center. We’ve put word out that we have you—that we’d hurt you if he didn’t get his ass back here.” He cocks his head, his cold dark eyes boring into mine, bringing a cold shiver to my skin.
“Seems he doesn’t give a fuck,” Slash adds with an icy chuckle, his knife flicking again.
I keep still as if moving will provoke an attack.
“Thus, we have a dilemma.” Preacher walks to me, looking me up and down as if I’m a car he’s interested in buying. “You’re starving yourself and that means soon enough we’ll be out your contribution too.”
Anger roils up inside me. “I can’t afford to fucking eat because I give you every penny to pay my debt. As soon as I can, I’m going back to my old life. I will be rid of you.” I jab a finger at the air in front of him with each word. The words are so angry, they surprise even me.
Preacher and Slash laugh and I notice in that moment, Python isn’t there, but then the slap hits and I see stars.
“You belong to me. Your life is what I say it is. And from now on, that’s living here.” Preacher says. The shock of his slap, or maybe it was Slash’s, I don’t even know, hasn’t even worn off when Preacher grabs my jaw between his hand and squeezes, forcing me to look at him.
My cheek both stings and throbs along with my jaw.
“Python will feed you, fatten you up, and then you’re going to start working for us. And when a buyer comes along…” He smiles and my gut roils.
I don’t have to ask what that means, especially as Slash leaps up, walks out of the room and returns with a box of condoms. He uses his knife to slice open the box and tears one of the condoms off the strip, dumping the rest in my purse. Waving the condom, he says, “Quality control inspection first.”
I can’t swallow the fear-filled saliva in my mouth with Preacher’s hand clamped over my jaw but I try anyway.
“Test her out, mark her, but don’t fucking touch her face.” Preacher throws me back and I stumble to the ancient carpet. Slash smiles, pocketing his knife.
I paste my eyes shut and think of Jeff. Big Grizzly Daddy. How safe he makes me feel when he locks me in the building at night. How he flirts and takes care of me.
It makes my chest ache because I want more than anything to see him one last time.
“Better get me that beer now, bitch.” I open my eyes to see Preacher is gone. I actually hear his bike peel off. Slash, back in his chair, lovingly caresses his knife as he eyes me. “It’s gonna be a long night. I have plans for that body.” His smile adds to the trembling his words have started. “How I’m going to mark it and how I’m going to use it.” When I don’t make a sound his brow furrows and he snarls, “Beer, bitch!”
I stand on shaking legs and turn to the kitchen, my body, mind, and heart suddenly numb. I feel nothing. I hear the door and boot clomps.
“I got the order asshole!” Slash yells. “Preach says I get to fuck and mark her. All but her face. So screw you.” He laughs like a teenaged boy who’s just schooled his best friend at some video game.
I move on wooden legs to get his beer. My eyes flick to the window, a blip of hope doused before it even starts. The window has bars. A large thump has my eyes darting back to the living room. Beer in hand, I see a slumped Slash on the floor. My eyes move up from his form and widen.
Jeff. Grizzly Daddy. He stands there, eyes wild, staring for five beats before he speaks. “Well, baby doll, I’d say it’s time to go.”
I clamp my lip between my teeth and for once don’t hold back the stinging behind my eyes. I rush him, launch myself into his arms and wrap my legs around his waist, ignoring his shocked oomph.
“Daddy,” I whisper and press my mouth against his. He kisses me back and I swallow a small groan at the intensity before he pulls back. His eyes, those gorgeous brown wells of care, fill with empathy.
“Let’s get you out of here before Slash wakes up.”
I nod and he sets me on my own two feet, grabbing my hand and pulling me behind him. It isn’t until we’re outside that I realize he called one of the bikers by name.
“How?” I blurt.
“No time, baby doll. Let’s get you safe.” Jeff’s steps trip up a little and I look up to see Python, standing like a brick wall in the driveway. His thick arms are crossed, but then he looks at Jeff and his head cocks ever so slightly to the side.
Time seems to stop, although the urgency inside me doesn’t. Python looks to me, his brow wrinkling slightly before smoothing to an impassive state. Jeff pulls on me but my feet seem to be stuck. At least until Python bends over to tie his boot.
Both Jeff and I look at each other, but only for a second, then he succeeds in tugging me forward and we’re moving again, heading for his truck—the Grizzly Security emblem emblazoned on the side. I look back at Python. He just nods before turning and heading inside as if we were never there.
“What the hell was that?”
Jeff yanks open the door of his pickup, puts his hand on my ass and shoves me inside. I practically fly up and onto the seat and before I can even right myself, he’s plopped onto his side of the bench.
“Dunno. Seatbelt.” He turns the ignition and peels out of there before I can click the belt in. I grab the door handle and hold on as he drives more like an Indy driver than a security guard. Several minutes pass before I can summon the ability to speak.
“Where are we going?” I say breathlessly, my eyes wide and my knuckles white against the handle.
“Someplace safe,” he answers distractedly, doing a shoulder check and weaving across three lanes to get to the freeway cut off. He takes a second to glance at my face and I must look a fright because he suddenly reaches out to take my hand in his. “You’re okay. Just breathe.” He squeezes, his large warm fingers enveloping my icy ones.
I nod and he looks back at the road for a few seconds before finding my face again. He scrutinizes, assesses, I don’t know, but it’s intense. I’m not sure if he’s looking at my battered cheek or reading my mind or what.
“Watch for bikes. Or anyone following.”
I nod and watch as he exits the highway. I see nothing suspicious, but I’m pretty sure he’s just giving me this job to keep me busy, and I appreciate it because I’m freaking the hell out.
I think ten minutes or so passes before he releases my hand to reef hard on the wheel, turning us down a dirt road with large evergreens and towering oaks. From there we take several abrupt turns, each taking us to more remote roads. Without a car in sight, my anxiety lessens.
“I think we made it,” I say but I’m not even sure what that means. I don’t know where I go from here. Python saw Jeff’s truck—the emblem. But then, he let us go and had protected me earlier, so does that even matter?
“My family cabin’s out here.” He slows the truck a little and places that warm palm on my leg to rub. “You okay? Your face? Your…” He doesn’t finish before I blurt an affirmative.
“I’m good. Just a little slap.”
“Good.” He nods. His soft brown eyes fill with the care I’ve grown used to seeing from him and he gives me a small reassuring smile before looking back at the road. “I was worried.”
We hit a big hole in the road and the truck bounces. I tighten my grip on the door. “How did you know?” I draw in a shaky breath. “How did you find me?”
“I saw them take you on the security cam. I knew where you were because…” He pauses, looking at me with a furrowed brow. “Don’t get upset, okay?”
I spin in the seat to face him as we hit another dip and I’m jostled again, but I narrow my eyes on him, suspicion burning in me. “How did you know Slash’s name?”
“Sit properly,” he demands, the gentleness of his voice replaced with his firm daddy tone. “I will explain everything once we’re safely inside and I’ve taken care of you.”
“No way. You’ll fucking tell me now or…” I look around, thinking quickly. “Or I’ll jump.” I’m livid as I click my seatbelt open and grab the door latch. “Are you a cop?” My voice rises in pitch. “Tell me! Are you a fucking cop?”
“Christ!” He yanks the wheel and we fishtail off the road to the side where the gravel is thick. It’s touch and go for a second before he pulls us safely to a stop in a cloud of dust. “Remove your hand from that door, little girl. Now.”
I don’t. I just eye him, my chest heaving. “Answer me! Are you going to arrest me? Are you using me to get shit on them? Is that what this is?” I palm my forehead. “Is that what all this has been?” I holler and pop the door open.
I’m sliding out of his truck onto the gravel, ready to run, too angry to care that I have no clue where I am, when he flies around the front of the truck and clasps his two large hands around my too skinny upper arms and yanks me to him.
I see stars again as his lips press hard against mine and he yanks me up onto my toes, forcing my mouth open to take his punishing kiss. I fight it at first, using my hands to push against his chest. But soon, the kiss becomes too much, too good, too deep and my body melts, turning to some sort of semi-liquid state against his.
When he stops, I have to blink a few times to get my brain back online.
“Would I kiss you like that if I was just using you?” His words are hard, his eyes demanding a reply.
I shake my head slowly, still not fully out of the haze his kiss left me in. Then he spins me to face the truck and his hand claps off my rear sharply, making my eyes fly wide.
“What the—” Another smack lands with a stinging bite, but I can’t move away with his left hand still clasping my arm. “Fuck?” A few more sharp swats brand the seat of my jeans before I cover my ass and he stops.
“That’s for almost putting us in the ditch.”
I swallow hard and yank my arm from his grip, placing both my palms over my ass. It’s warm, kind of buzzy, and it does this swirly thing to my insides. I should be mad as hell and giving him a black eye, but his firm dirty daddy routine has me throbbing instead.
“Are you done abusing me?” I question angrily, to hide my own desire. He narrows his eyes and before I can register what’s happening, he’s propped his booted foot on the truck’s runner and is yanking me up and over his ben
t leg.
I’m dangling, and scrambling for purchase, when his hand wallops off my backside again (and again!), and this time it friggin’ hurts! It isn’t leaving a little sexy tingle this time either, and yet, I’m still...er... enjoying isn’t quite the right word, but let’s just say it causes more throbbing—the needy kind in my lady bits. He must smack my bottom twenty times while I kick and squeal, before he gently lowers me back onto my feet.
“That’s what naughty little girls that throw tantrums get, got me?”
I’m gasping for breath and rubbing the fire out of my cheeks when he shakes his head and leans down to kiss me. It’s not a quick kiss but it’s not a lingering one either. And damn I want it to be. My middle’s swirling, hot and pulsing, and despite my anger over his spanking and my body’s treasonous reaction to it, I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him back to make it a lingering one.
When it ends, we both stare at each other silently for a moment. And then he points a long finger at me. His mouth, freshly swollen from the kiss, flattens.
“Do that again and one of two things are going to happen. One,” he holds up the pointing finger. “You’re going to be naked and pressed under me in the fucking ditch, or two,” another finger pops up. “I’m going to take down those jeans and spank the lesson home.”
I swallow hard. Good God. “Can I have both?” I blurt, shocking us both.
And then he laughs—a real belly laugh, and I can’t help but join him.
“Get back in the truck, Lu. I’ll explain everything at the cabin. And you can tell me what the hell is going on too.” He turns, and without looking back, heads to the cab of the truck. “Now, Tallulah Jane, or Daddy’s actually going to do both of those things for real.”
My brain is muddled, my panties damp, and my nipples are so hard they ache. I do as I’m told, but part of me wants to push for more of his stern correction, so when I get into the truck, I cross my arms over my chest, clench my jaw and stare out the window.