ENSLAVED BY SHIFTERS

by Astrid Lee Donovan

  Marcy wasn’t sure, if the tables were turned, that Veronica would do the same for her.

  It didn’t matter.

  There were lots of things that Marcy would do for Veronica. In fact, there was almost nothing she wouldn’t do for Veronica. She told herself – time and time again – it was just because they were friends, nothing else. That all those other feelings that rose in her when she thought of Veronica were just weird, transitory changes that came from the stress of starting college and trying to acclimate to a whole new environment.

  In the confusing and stressful world of college, Veronica was Marcy’s safe place, a good friend who made Marcy feel like she could accomplish anything. The fact that Marcy sometimes peeked out from her covers in the morning when Veronica was getting dressed was just pure curiosity. And that one time that they’d….

  Marcy never let herself dwell to long on that one time. If she did, she’d have to admit that she was more than just curious about her gorgeous, raven-haired, green-eyed roommate. She preferred to just go with the flow, let things resolve themselves. Just like that moment, in the back of the cop car, Marcy was angry with Veronica – but trusted, deep down, that her friend would get them out of it. Nothing bad ever stuck to Veronica. She seemed untouchable. And Marcy trusted her, underneath all the fear and anger, she trusted her.

  In the end, that would always be her downfall.

  But, as it happened, that night, her trust in Veronica proved itself; the curvy, beautiful young girl needed only to flip her long locks a few times and bat her dark eyelashes, looking sorrowful and demure, and the two coeds were released with a stern warning that next time they wouldn't be so lucky.

  Their walk back from the University Police Department was far more somber than their walk from the frat house, with Marcy shuffling along behind and ruminating on the nature of close calls and wondering if – had she been alone – the police would have been so lenient. Then again, if she'd been alone, she would never have stolen the damn thing in the first place.

  But try as she might to hold onto that anger, she found herself wavering. Veronica, penitent, offered her the last slice of that leftover pizza, giving Marcy a look not unlike the look that had gotten them out of trouble with the cops. Sighing and shaking her head, Marcy let a smile spread across her cheeks.

  Veronica was a hard girl to stay mad at.

  2

  “So who's this little filly you've been entertaining?” Rosco asked, smirking at Steel from across the bar. Steel rolled his eyes and took a deep gulp of his beer. He knew he was being kind of stupid, getting wrapped up in a college girl. She was barely legal, for one thing, and she certainly wouldn't be able to handle it if she learned all the things Steel hid from her – the things he and his club did weren't too nasty by most standards, but for a little college girl? They'd be enough to induce a heart attack.

  Luckily, she never seemed to care much that Steel didn't share much about his life with the War Horses Motorcycle Club. The club was small, based out of Rochester, New York. They didn't have much of a rep, which was fine with them. They didn't need a rep; it wouldn't help them fly under the radar, which was how they liked to operate. With twelve members, all seasoned riders, the War Horses did what they did – and they did it well.

  They mostly dealt in arms, selling hot pieces to anyone who couldn't buy one on their own. They operated out of a shoddy roadside bar, and kept themselves well out of the way of the Rochester Police Department. They were simple men, with simple needs and desires. Some cash, some booze, women to keep them warm at night, and themselves, their brotherhood.

  “College girl from the 'seo,” he answered in simple terms, fixing Rosco in a look. He didn't owe the man anything more by way of an explanation. Steel never said more than he needed to. Hell, that's one of the reasons Veronica liked him. He told her what to do, and she did it, and they both enjoyed the fuck out of it. What more could a man want?

  Well, she'd already thought of something else a man might want. And soon enough, she promised, she'd be delivering it. It wasn't just for Steel's benefit, he knew. Veronica's wild side extended far past the boundaries of any other girl her age. If nothing else, he wanted to keep her around until she made good on her promises. It'd been a long time since he'd had two ripe little ladies at his disposal. After that, he could go back to fucking whoever he wanted, whenever he wanted.

  Good things came to those who waited, right?

  “Well, she's hot shit,” Rosco said, nodding. “She got a friend?”

  Steel didn't answer, but he smiled a little bit as he took another sip of his beer.

  3

  Half a week after the incident with the University Police, Marcy had the dream again. It wasn't much of a dream, really. It was more of a memory. The same memory she tried to bury again and again, because whenever it slithered into her mind, her imagination threatened to go wild with it – and threaten everything she thought she knew about herself.

  It hadn't taken long for Marcy to figure out that college was a lot like one big sleepover party. Not that she knew much about sleepovers; she hadn't been cool enough through her adolescence to ever be invited to one. But she'd seen enough movies to relate the late-night dorm activities to kids playing after dark in their sleeping bags.

  On weeknights, when there weren't parties to go to, people would all gather in someone's dorm and play games like “Never Have I Ever” and “Truth or Dare”. Marcy enjoyed it all, even though she was naturally shy. She'd come to college determined to leave her old, mousy life behind and start a new one, with new friends and exciting adventures. So she was always ready to go along with whatever the crowd was doing. Especially if Veronica was involved.

  One night, when a guy on their floor had managed to sneak in a 24-pack of cheap beer, Veronica and Marcy found themselves sitting on the floor of his dorm with about five other freshman, all half-drunk and giggling. Someone had the bright idea to play “Spin the Bottle”, another game that Marcy knew only from watching movies. The idea of kissing someone incited a flutter of nerves in her stomach; she'd never kissed anyone before.

  She was a pretty girl, even though she didn't know it. With honey-colored eyes and hair to match, a heart-shaped face and a lean, toned body, she could have gotten a date in high school if she was more outgoing and didn't always have her nose in a book. But, alas, she'd managed to make it to 18 without ever holding hands with a member of the opposite sex, never mind locking lips.

  Marcy didn't know how she felt about her first kiss happening as a result of a childish party game, but looking around the room, and emboldened by Veronica's heartfelt endorsement of the idea, she knew she should just go with it. If she was trying to start a new life, it meant she should say “yes” to things that made her nervous. So she sat in the circle, cross-legged and clutching her beer for dear life, secretly grateful each time the bottle's neck pointed to someone else.

  Watching the boys and girls kiss – giggling, nervous, sometimes passionate and sometimes friendly – did nothing to ease the butterflies in her stomach. But it did make her aware of other feelings, too. This was the closest thing to porn that Marcy had ever seen, and her body was reacting like it was a hardcore sex scene. She hoped her cheeks weren't showing as much red as they felt, that her increased heartbeat wasn't detectable to anyone but herself.

  When it was Veronica's turn, Marcy felt something else; a sudden, sharp surge of jealousy. She watched the bottle spin round and round. As it slowed, she found herself preemptively hating whoever the bottle happened to land on. Why she felt that way, she couldn't say. All she knew was that the idea of her beautiful roommate kissing anyone made her want to run into a corner and punch the wall. If anyone was going to kiss Veronica, she wanted it to be...

  The bottle slowed, then stopped. Marcy's heart stopped with it. She was staring right down the neck, the bottle pointed at her. The crowd ooh'd suggestively; so far, there hadn't been any girl-on-girl (or boy-on-boy) kisses. A few of the guys hooted
their approval and excitement, while the girls tittered.

  “I've been waiting all night to see something like that!” one guy yelled, making Marcy blush harder. But when Marcy turned to Veronica, relief and nervousness doing double duty on her emotions, she saw that Veronica was as cool and composed as ever. In fact, that little smile on Veronica's lips made Marcy wonder if her roommate wasn't a little happy about the outcome. Marcy felt frozen in place, her heart beating fast, trying to make sense of the fact that her first-ever kiss was going to be a girl.

  “C'mere, Marcy,” Veronica cooed, seeing her friend's reluctance. Marcy's back went rigid as Veronica leaned forward and ran her hands through Marcy's hair, gently tugging Marcy forward. The world seemed to slow to a torturous crawl as Marcy watched Veronica's lips, red and wet, approach her own. She felt herself pulled towards them like a magnet. And then they met.

  The crowd's reaction faded away into the background. Veronica wasn't going to let Marcy off the hook with a quick peck. Marcy felt her body buzzing, her skin suddenly catching fire, as Veronica kissed her long and slow, just the slightest pressure against her lips. But that pressure was everything – everything Marcy could ever have dreamed from a kiss. She felt herself falling forward into Veronica's body, her hands landing on Veronica's crossed thighs.

  A gentle teasing push against Marcy's lips, and they opened, Veronica's tongue dancing inwards, against Marcy's tongue, igniting a bonfire. It felt like that moment stretched out forever and was over in an instant; as Veronica pulled away, eyes lidded and smoky, her hands untangling themselves from Marcy's hair, Marcy felt her body leaning towards her, unwilling for it to end.

  And then the world rushed back in, in vibrant color and sound. The crowd was going wild, the boys hooting and yelling like they had front-row seats to the super bowl while the girls laughed riotously. Marcy blinked, her eyes still trapped in Veronica's green gaze. Veronica winked, offered her a lilting smile, and then joined in the laughter, turning back to the group with her eyes dancing, licking her lips.

  In the dream, though, it didn't end there. In the dreams, and in Marcy's imagination, the kiss never ended at all. It morphed, instead, to something even deeper. They would press their bodies together, undulating their hips against each other, each searching out something in the other.

  And when Marcy woke up, she'd be sweating and cold at the same time, with a damp spot in her panties that brought a blush to her cheeks. If she was lucky, Veronica would have already left for the day. If she wasn't, she'd pretend to be asleep until her roommate left, too embarrassed to even say “good morning”.

  Marcy had always known she was straight. Even though she'd never had the chance to act on it, she'd always liked boys. Veronica was the first girl to make her feel otherwise. She knew that bisexuality was real, that lots of girls had feelings about other girls, but she just couldn't buy into the idea that she was like that. Honestly, how could she be bisexual when she'd never even had the chance to be sexual at all?

  The worst part of it wasn't just the questions about who she was and who she wanted. It was the pure shame of it. Veronica was gorgeous. She was curvy, with large breasts and long legs and a perfect butt. She had that long black hair, those green eyes, that long, exotic face and plump lips. If Veronica knew that mousy little Marcy had a crush on her...it would be mortifying, to say the least.

  But she couldn't control her dreams. During the day, at least, she had some ability to tune out or mute her thoughts. At night, it was a totally different story. One that left her craving the real thing, time and time again.

  4

  After the incident with the plastic slide, Marcy swore never to let herself get swept up in any of Veronica's craziness again. It would be all movie marathons and trips to the dining hall for them. No more parties or illegal activities. That promise went straight out the window two weeks later, when Veronica came bursting into their dorm room.

  “Marcy!” Veronica bubbled, throwing her book bag onto her bed. “It's Thirsty Thursday, and we're going to Rochester!”

  Marcy looked up from her anatomy textbook. Rochester? That was 45 minutes away. It wouldn't be much of a “Thirsty Thursday” for Marcy if she had to drive home.

  “Um,” Marcy said, biting her lip and running a hand through her brown hair. “I don't think so, Ronnie. I've got all this studying to do and...”

  Veronica pouted, sat down on her bed with a bounce.

  “You have all weekend to study,” she said. “And this is a very special night. There's someone I want you to meet.”

  Marcy raised an eyebrow. Someone? Immediately, her stomach sank a little bit. She should have known that all those weekends Veronica spent away from the dorm room, with no word about where she was or who she was with...she had a boyfriend. Some secret lover in Rochester. Of course she did. A girl like Veronica had no reason to be single.

  And it was just like Veronica to ignore all the boys on campus and find herself some secret man to spend her time with. Probably old and rich and handsome. Maybe he was from Britain, with a heavy accent. Maybe he was a rockstar. None of those things would have surprised Marcy in the least. She sighed.

  “Really, I don't feel like driving all the way to Rochester and back,” Marcy said, turning back to her book to hide the disappointment in her eyes as she let the truth hit home. She never had a chance with Veronica, anyway, and she didn't want to date a girl. So why did the thought of Veronica dating someone else bother her so much?

  “I'll drive there,” Veronica said, rising to come stand behind Marcy. Marcy's spine stiffened slightly at her proximity. She could smell Veronica's floral perfume. “And we can spend the night. Please, Marcy.”

  To punctuate her pleading, Veronica threw her arms around Marcy from behind, pressing her cheek to Marcy's. Marcy felt faint. She closed her eyes and for one moment imagined this was happening under different circumstances.

  “He's really special to me, and you're really special to me,” Veronica said, rocking back and forth slightly. “Please please please pleeeeeeease? I just want to show off my awesome friend...”

  “Ugh,” Marcy said, wanting more than anything for Veronica to stop holding her like that. It was too much, too close, too near to what Marcy really wanted. “Fine! Fine!”

  “Yes!!!” Veronica cheered, pulling away. Marcy breathed deeply, realizing that she'd been holding her breath. “Now, what are you gonna wear...”

  Veronica bounced away towards Marcy's closet and started rifling through her clothes. Marcy sighed again, thinking that she needed a shower now, and would probably feel woefully under-dressed in whatever Veronica picked out for her. True to form, when Marcy got out of the shower and saw what Veronica had laid out, she had to laugh. Veronica had found Marcy's shortest short shorts. At least the t-shirt she picked out covered her whole torso and shoulders, but it was one of her tightest, almost too tight to even wear a bra under.

  For herself, Veronica chose a short black dress, skin tight around her curves but casual enough that she didn't stick out standing next to Marcy in her shorts and tee.

  Neither girl went heavy on the make-up; Veronica didn't need to, and Marcy just never cared to. Veronica left her hair straight, its black sheen glossy and full, while Marcy curled her honey locks to frame her heart-shaped face. Looking in the mirror at the two of them, Marcy felt nearly prepubescent; but Veronica draped her arm around Marcy's shoulders and declared them “the hottest thing on four legs,” making Marcy laugh and roll her eyes at the same time.

  When it got dark, they piled into Marcy's old Chevy and started towards Rochester. Veronica blasted the radio and the girls sang along to all the Beyonce and Rhianna they could handle, the miles passing by quickly as they lost themselves in the night air, the music, and the sense of freedom and friendship that only your first year of college can really afford. Veronica had a map on her GPS to the bar where she was to meet her mystery man, and Marcy did her best to follow Veronica's sloppy directions, missing all the turns
because Veronica was too distracted to alert her on time.

  Finally, they found the dirt road that would lead them to their destination. Marcy's good mood soured as soon as she saw how dark and uninhabited it seemed. The bar Veronica directed them to was just outside of Rochester instead of being in the city itself. When it came into view, it looked seedy, and put Marcy's caution sensors on high. A row of gleaming metal bikes were parked out front. The neon sign declared: P RKY'S B R. Marcy used her context clues to assume that it was supposed to say “Porky's Bar”, but the vowels had burned out.

  “Ready?” Veronica asked, un-clicking her belt.

  “Uh, are you sure this is the place?” Marcy asked, leaning over the wheel, not sure if Veronica had gotten confused. Surely her boyfriend didn't hang out here?

  “Of course I'm sure, silly,” Veronica said, giving Marcy a strange, sideways look. “I've been here, like, a million times. Let's go. The night's a-wasting.”

  Marcy's eyebrows rose in surprise, but she didn't have much of a choice. Undoing her own belt and turning off the engine, she followed Veronica onto the rickety wooden porch surrounding the place. Once inside, the sound of country music on the jukebox assaulted Marcy's ears, a harsh distinction from the party music they'd listened to the whole way over.

  Marcy looked around. The air was thick with smoke, the smell of stale beer all around. All the men seemed to be sporting beards and leather jackets. There was something off about the crowd; it wasn't just that Marcy had grown used to hanging out with frat boys. There was a griminess, a realness, about these men...

  She squinted. Most of the men seemed to be wearing patches on their vests or jackets. And they all seemed to have the same patch featured prominently on the back...it said War Horses MC, and featured a motorcycle-stallion hybrid underneath the words. Her eyes widened as her mind put two and two together.