Motorcycle Daddy's Captive: An Age Play DDLG Motorcycle Club Romance

by Daisy March

  “I know,” Slater muttered to himself. “No one gets in there without a Little.”

  For the last year increasing amounts of a new drug had been appearing on the streets of Bankston. Called Cake, it was ten times as addictive as crack and ten times as profitable.

  It was also spreading fast.

  Slater didn’t mind the occasional joint or two but this wasn’t the same, this was killing people, a lot of people. Not just the addicts but the rival gangs fighting over distribution. The police were at a loss but Slater had a theory.

  He was sure a rival motorcycle gang was involved with the distribution. All of a sudden the Backwoods Boys had a new ranch, new motorcycles, and new guns.

  It didn’t take a genius to work out where their money was coming from. the rumor was Cake could be used to control people too, make them more suggestible in even the smallest of doses.

  He’d spoken to Drake over in Newton. Drake had dealt with this sort of thing before. Wiped out Cake in his town before it could take hold.

  Between the two of them they’d sent scouts hunting. At last he had a result. It was coming out of The Milk Bar, the private members’ club downtown.

  After listening to the message he’d gotten in touch with Drake again. “It looks like it’s being made in the back of The Milk Bar somewhere.”

  “So get in there. What’s the problem?”

  “You only get in there if you take a Little with you,” Slater told him.

  “So get one.”

  “Where the hell am I meant to find someone willing to dress up like a little girl who’ll go with me into a motorcycle club’s private kink club where she might get shot before she even gets a drink in her?”

  “You’ll find the right Little for the job,” Drake said. “I did.”

  That was the end of the call. Slater would find one. He wished he was that confident of success.

  The kind of women who hung out in his bar weren’t exactly the kind who’d willingly put on short frocks and suck their thumbs. They were more the smash bottles over your head and cut your throat to rob your pocket kind of women.

  He’d ridden to the bar that morning with no clue how he was going to find a Little. He didn’t need a real one which at least might make the task easier.

  All he needed was someone willing to pretend to be a Little. Just long enough to get through the club door. He’d do the rest.

  He had thought about raiding the place, going in with all guns blazing. The problem was a simple one. Firstly, Dooley’s recon work had shown it was a securely guarded venue and he’d lose some men on the way in.

  Like rats, the makers would scurry out the back while he was getting in the front and then he’d be back to square one, trying to find where they set up next.

  It was whack-a-mole. He’d taken out a derelict store and an R.V they kept on the move but this was bigger.

  Someone was financing them. That was the only explanation for why they were in such a secure building. It wouldn’t take long for the town to be swamped with the stuff.

  He knew it was currently a local problem because it hadn’t popped up in any other chapters. That was only for now. If he didn’t deal with things fast, something so profitable would spread fast.

  The Backwoods Boys were already boasting about spreading east, stepping on more of Devil’s Warriors’ turf. They were getting rich fast and he needed to deal with things before they decided to spend some profit hiring mercs to take out the Devil’s Warriors.

  Slater needed a woman to pretend to be a Little, get him through the door. He’d find the makers and deal with them. No Cake makers, no Cake. Problem solved.

  He could go back to worrying about all the other things he had to deal with, like breaking up fights and saving runaways.

  He walked out of the office to find it wasn’t the frat boys from the morning back for more. It was two cops. They were in suits but he could tell a cop from a mile away.

  His crew was blocking them from getting past and they were pissed about it. “Move aside or we’ll be back with a warrant and get you shut down for good,” one of them was yelling. The other one was already reaching for his gun.

  Five of Slater’s crew had their guns out first, pointing them at the guy’s head.

  Slater walked over. “How dumb are you?” he asked conversationally. “Coming into Devil’s Warriors Headquarters yelling your head off like this.”

  “We have a right to be here.”

  “Come and sit down, have a drink.”

  “I don’t want a drink,” the cop spat back at him. “I want these people arrested. All of them.”

  “Then you better come back with that warrant of yours you were talking about. Only the judge won’t sign unless you tell him what it’s for now will he?”

  The cops glared at him as he walked around the bar and poured out three glasses of whiskey. He picked one up, sliding the other two toward the cops. “Take it easy. You might live longer.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “You’re new in Bankston, aren’t you? What’s your name, son?”

  “It’s not son, it’s not mate, it’s not pal. I’m not your goddammed child. I’m an officer of the law and you’ve got illegal firearms pointing at me.”

  “Private property, legally owned guns, protecting the peace same as you. Ain’t no trouble unless you make it. What’s your name?”

  “Detective Johnson and you’re interfering with my investigation.”

  “Far as I can tell, you haven’t shared what you’re investigating.” He took a sip of the whiskey. “Damn, that’s good stuff. You should try it.”

  “We’re looking for a runaway. Her parents are worried sick.”

  “Really? They send two detectives out on runaway cases now? You must have a hell of a budget surplus at the precinct.”

  The cop took a step back, an oily smile appearing on his face, hands outstretched in front of him. “Listen,” he said, eyes still cold. “Maybe we got off on the wrong foot here.”

  “Maybe we did.”

  “You’re a reasonable bunch of men, I can tell that. I’m looking for a girl. Thought she’d run in here, that’s all. You seen her?”

  “What’s she look like?”

  “Nineteen. Five-four give or take. Messy blonde hair. Pale skin, wearing blue jeans and a stained white tee. Ring any bells?”

  Slater drained his glass before answering. “Can’t say it does. What she do, this kid? Steal your lunch money?”

  “She’s no kid. She killed two people.”

  “Now I’m just a drinker not a detective but that doesn’t sound like a runaway to me. That sounds like a murderer.”

  Johnson’s smile vanished. “Have you seen her or not? Someone told us she ran in here.”

  “I’ve not seen her. Any of you boys seen her?”

  His crew all growled “nope,” in the detectives’ direction.

  “Now, if you’re not looking for a drink,” Slater said, pouring himself another measure. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave only we’re not officially open for another hour and I’d hate to be in trouble for breaking the licensing laws, me being such a fine upstanding citizen and all.”

  The detective scowled at him, his colleague pointing toward Slater. “We’ll be back.”

  “All right, Smith” Johnson said. “Let’s get out of here.”

  As soon as they were gone, Slater called across to Dooley. “Lock the door. Make sure they’re gone.”

  Dooley looked out the window beside the door. “Walking back up toward the Clark building. Woulda thought they’d know better than to barge in here.”

  “He’s new. Bet he’s down from the city. Thinks he can shake things up in the small town.”

  “This about that girl that came in?”

  “None of you saw her,” Slater said, pointing at the entire crew. “Get back to what you were doing but keep a guard on the door. I want to know if those two scumbags get within two hundred yards of this place.”r />
  Slater walked back into the office, draining his glass as he went. He locked the office door before sliding back the rug, lifting the trapdoor and peering down. “You still alive in there?”

  No reply.

  He walked down the steps. The light was out. Had she turned it off? “It’s all right,” he said as he descended the stairs. “You’re safe now.”

  He saw the movement just in time. She was nothing but a shadow in the dark but he’d been jumped too many times not to be ready. She leaped at him from the left. He caught hold of her arm as something glinted in the dark. Was that a knife?

  He twisted her wrist and she dropped the blade, shrieking in pain. She squirmed to try and get away from him but he held onto her tight, dragging her up against the wall, crushing her in place with his bulk, reaching up with one hand and getting the lights back on.

  The cellar lit up at once, barrels of beer coming into view alongside metal shelves filled with motorcycle parts. Weapons took up the far wall.

  “I guess I should be grateful you picked a knife and not a gun,” he said, twisting the woman around so she was facing him. “I might have a couple of holes in me by now, leaking bourbon on the floor.”

  She burst into tears. At once he loosened his grip. She no longer looked like a potential killer. She looked like cornered prey. Terrified, eyes wild, face pale.

  She looked like it had been a long time since she’d seen a decent meal or a decent wash. Her hair was greasy, sticking to her forehead. Her arms were coated in dust and her tee-shirt was stained dark with something that looked a lot like blood.

  He held her while she cried. She collapsed into his arms. He waited in silence.

  “Hey,” he said when her tears finally began to slow. “What’s your name?”

  She ran for the stairs, faster than he expected. He got hold of her again, letting her struggle against him, watching as she lashed out, her fists pummeling his chest. He waited until she tired. It didn’t take long. She was clearly already exhausted.

  “Here,” he said, reaching down and picking up the thing she’d dropped. It was the top half of a stuffed toy bear. The other half was by the stairs. He grabbed that too, handing them both to her.

  She snatched them from him, backing away until she was pressed up against the wall behind her.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, his hands palm out toward her. “I just want to talk.”

  “You’re going to hurt me,” she said. “Everyone hurts me.”

  “Not me,” he replied, shaking his head. “I’m one of the good guys.”

  “You don’t look like a good guy.”

  “This?” He tugged at his leather jacket? “Don’t let this fool you. I’m a cuddly old teddy bear.”

  She managed a grin. It was only for a brief second but it was there. She hid it away again, her lips pursed like she was biting the inside of her cheek to keep it gone.

  She was hugging the two halves of the stuffed bear, shuffling back like she thought the wall could help to hide her away from view.

  He liked seeing the grin. It had lit up her eyes. He took a slow step toward her. She watched him warily. He looked at her closer in the light. Under all the dirt and grease she was a pretty one.

  His inner Daddy came bubbling up, the part of him he’d always kept hidden away. In his world only Drake had been accepted for having a Little.

  It wasn’t something motorcycle club presidents did, take care of a Little. It didn’t exactly give off the right tough guy vibes to any rivals out there.

  He wanted to be her Daddy though. He wanted to take her home and clean her up, get her some fresh clothes, look after her.

  He got the feeling no one had ever looked after her before. “Come on,” he said, holding a hand out toward her. “Let’s go upstairs.”

  She looked at his hand and for a moment he thought she was going to run again. That or try and attack him a second time. She looked up at him. He nodded. “It’s okay.”

  She slipped her hand into his. Her fingers felt icy cold.

  “Let’s get you warm,” he said, leading her up the stairs out of the cellar. “Big old teddy bears don’t like cold things around them.”

  “That’s why they have fur,” she whispered, holding her ripped bear towards him. In that moment he could easily have fallen in love with her. “To keep warm.”

  He stepped out of the cellar, helping her up through the trapdoor hatch.

  “Here,” he said, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders, guiding her into the chair behind his desk. “Sit there and I’ll go fetch you a hot drink. Don’t move, okay?”

  She looked afraid but as he managed another smile, her fear softened. “Okay,” she replied in a whisper.

  He left her in the office. He didn’t lock the door behind him.

  3

  Beth

  Beth sat with the blanket around her shoulders, trembling with fear, Eleanor safe on her lap.

  The man seemed so brave. He hadn’t been afraid of the knife. He hadn’t even flinched, like he was used to disarming people every day of the week.

  He should be afraid.

  He hadn’t seen what those two men did. They worked for the police. They could bring more men here, force him to hand her over. She’d be dead if he did that.

  She looked around the office. There was a window in the back wall but it was too small to climb through.

  Where was she going to run to anyway? She had nowhere to go. She needed to change how she looked if she was going to survive. She needed somewhere to hide in the meantime. Maybe he might help her. It had to be worth asking.

  The man who’d helped her. She should have been afraid of him. Everything her father had warned her about men. Scarred. Smelling of his leather jacket and bourbon. No aftershave needed. She could swoon over a man like that.

  He was so big too.

  A huge mountain of a man, messy hair, stubble like he didn’t care about it.

  He had a few scars on his face but they were nothing next to the scars all over her body.

  She had been scared of the way she’d reacted when he grabbed her. She had thought he was with them, one more man out to hurt her.

  He’d just held her and for a brief moment she felt safe in his arms even after she had tried to attack him, her mind in terrified little space, lashing out to survive.

  He had taken her hand and brought her up here, left her wrapped up in a blanket while he left the office. He hadn’t even locked the door behind him. If she wanted to leave, she could do it anytime.

  She sat looking at the pictures on the wall behind the desk. Motorcycles and people riding them. Men and women. All in the same jackets. Devil’s Warriors.

  A noticeboard covered in invoices and receipts dating back years, scrawled notes that had yellowed with age. Fresher ones which mentioned the word Cake. Where had she heard that before? She furrowed her brow and thought.

  The detectives had talked about it, that was where. Was that what was in the boxes she wasn’t allowed to touch?

  More paperwork was piled up next to the computer. She listened. He was talking out there. Other men were talking too, laughing as they did so.

  She felt utterly alone. No one was going to help her. She was going to have to help herself.

  She needed to run. But what was the point? They’d find her quick enough. Maybe she should just give up, go outside and wait for it to all be over.

  She put the two halves of Eleanor on the desk in front of her, reaching into her pants pocket and pulling out the memory card. She licked her finger, trying her best to clean the blood from it, the writing becoming clearer. Memcore. 512gb.

  What was on it?

  She had seen things like this before. Her father had sold a box full of cheap knock off ones. Her job had been to remove the casings that said 1gb and replace them with 256gb markings so he could sell them for more money.

  This wasn’t one of them. This one had something on it that was important, she kne
w that. Billy had lost his life over it. The detectives had been looking for it. What was on it that was so important?

  She closed her eyes. She felt so tired all of a sudden, yawning loudly twice in a row. At once she was running again, the last few hours coming back in a rush, her eyes wild as she relived it.

  She had made it out of the apartment block and down the fire escape in time to find the two detectives already running her way. The other police officer was descending the fire escape, taking the steps two at a time.

  She shuddered as she thought how close they came to grabbing her, reaching for her arm as she sprinted away toward the main road.

  She weaved through the cars, horns blaring, brakes squealing, the officers falling behind, not willing to take the risks she took.

  She missed the corner of a bus by inches, skidding to a halt on the sidewalk, looking back to find them still coming. She ran on and on.

  It had taken so long to lose them that by the time she slowed down, she was exhausted.

  She had sat on a bench panting for breath, shivering as the adrenaline wore off and she was left cold in the winter’s air, a chill breeze blowing along the streets.

  No one paid her any attention, even with the dried blood coating her clothes.

  Anyone who looked her way looked away quickly. She was just one more problem for the world to ignore.

  She walked some more. Starving hungry, she stole some bread from a grocery store, tossing half of the loaf to a hungry looking dog outside.

  It carried the chunk off like a prime steak as she tore into her half, her stomach growling with hunger.

  It was while she was finishing the last of the crust that she saw the squad car. It skidded to a halt at the corner of the road in front of her, the two detectives bursting out, both of them sprinting toward her, yelling for her to freeze.

  She turned and ran again, running until her legs felt like they were about to collapse under her.

  Lungs burning, she crashed through the nearest door, ignoring the men yelling at her as she ran straight through the next door, hoping it led outside again. Instead she arrived in the office where she was still sitting.