Courageous (Rock Bottom #3)

by Jennifer Ann

  “I’m not allowed to leave the compound very often,” I confess, once again glancing over my shoulder. “If they see me with someone I know, they’ll think I’m trying to find a way out. I won’t be allowed to go anywhere ever again.” I gently nudge her back. “Please, Sasha, you have to go.”

  She shakes her head, refusing to budge. “What do you mean you’re not allowed to leave? What compound? Are you in some kind of cult?” Her gaze snaps down to the mini dress Diesel made me wear for the occasion. “Did someone force you into sex trafficking?”

  Laughter tickles my throat. She’s not too far off base. “Remember how I’d never talk about my family? It’s because my father’s a dangerous man—the president of Martyrs of Mayhem. I didn’t want you getting involved in my shit back then, and I certainly don’t want you getting involved now. It’s not safe.”

  She frowns, shoulders hunched forward. “If you think I’m gonna just walk away after everything you just said—”

  “Get the fuck away from me, bitch!” I roar, slapping her across the cheek with everything I have. “I don’t swing that way!”

  Autumn steps in beside me, laughing as she hands me a glass. Her eyes travel from Sasha’s stunned expression to her impressive curves inside the sequined dress. “Get a load of you, sugar. The guys would go apeshit for your type—especially if you swing both ways. Ever considered becomin’ a biker’s old lady?”

  Sasha straightens her spine, eyes flickering my way only for a moment before smiling in Autumn’s direction. “What would I have to do to get in?”

  Kierra sniggers, arms crossed under her obnoxious breasts. “You don’t have what it takes.”

  “Oh yeah?” Sasha asks, mirroring her pose. “Try me.”

  Staring at my stubborn friend, my heart clenches.

  What in the hell does she think she’s doing?

  2

  Andie

  Current day

  “Andie! Where the fuck are you?”

  With the sound of Diesel’s angry roar, I spring from the bathroom where I was curling my hair to greet the man my father “gifted me to” on my eighteenth birthday. In the front entry, I stop suddenly, bottom lip caught between my teeth as I wearily study the dangerous man I’ve shared a bed with nearly every single night for over two years.

  By most women’s standards, Diesel’s an attractive bad-boy. Wild jet-black hair, pretty lips, square jaw, amber eyes, muscular arms covered in meaningful ink that represents the life of an outlaw. He could make a career out of modeling if it weren’t for the bloody handprints smeared across his cheek and white t-shirt. Like any other day, he probably either maimed or killed another enemy of the Martyrs. And by the way he’s swaying on his feet, it appears he’s already drunk.

  Lips curling with a flicker of appreciation, his gaze anchors on my breasts squeezed together in the cropped top he brought home earlier in the week, and demanded I wear for tonight’s party. His predatory expression is one I know all too well. Whatever he did got him all riled up. He wants sex.

  My entire body tightens. I forced myself to accept the situation I’m in, only because it’s better than stumbling away with a black eye and bruises. Diesel’s not a big man in general, but he’s twice as strong as I’ll ever be. Putting up any kind of fight is a waste of energy.

  Still, it was actually a blessing that my father chose him, considering there are far more abusive and unbalanced club members. Since I decided to play along, Diesel only knocks me around after he’s had too much whiskey. Some of the other old ladies in the club are paired with vile members more than twice their age, and they’re forced to sport brutal injuries like accessories.

  Everyone assumes Diesel takes it easy on me because my father’s the club president. But they’re unable to see the bigger picture—Ajax Kennison only cares about two things: the club and his own ass. And my father thinks I’m seriously deranged…an animal in need of being caged. If I wasn’t his offspring, he would’ve taken care of me by now—disposed of my body in the river like one of his rivals. Sometimes I think Diesel senses that, which was another reason I decided to give up the fight and follow my father’s orders. There’s only so much I can take.

  All at once feeling incredibly ill, I hug myself. “What happened?”

  “Took care of some business.” With a gruff grunt, Diesel tosses his leather cut onto the couch. “Make me something to eat, woman.”

  I bare my teeth. “They’re serving ribeye at the party.”

  “I’m hungry now.”

  “I’ll make you a sandwich,” I mutter obediently, heading into the kitchen.

  Normally the thought of another club party would set me on edge as I’ve grown to hate every last club member. They’re nothing more than a mindless bunch of scumbags who worship my father. Even the other old ladies are loathsome for all the shit they willingly endure. If I weren’t forced into this lifestyle, I’d do everything in my power to stay the hell away from it.

  But tonight’s different.

  As I’m retrieving a loaf of bread, Diesel snatches a fistful of curls and yanks me back against him. Shrieking in pain, I reach back to release his fingers, cursing myself for not chopping my hair off months ago. When I part my lips to tell him he doesn’t have to be so rough, his other hand grips my jaw and turns my head. Then his cold, whiskey-laced tongue darts into my mouth, flopping around like a fish. Against every instinct to push him away, I remain frozen as he shoves a hand up my mini skirt, taking what was never his to begin with. As he continues to violate me with all five digits, nausea rises in my throat with the coppery smell of blood.

  Wrenching my mouth from his, I still his hand. “You need to shower first.” I motion to the blood on his shirt. “This shit can’t be sanitary.”

  “I’ll shower when I’m good and ready.” The slow, menacing smirk passing over his lips turns my blood ice cold. “First my woman’s gonna properly welcome me home.”

  He unzips his pants and whips his swollen cock out, watching me…waiting for me to defy him. Waiting for a reason to punish with his fists. Waiting for a reason to mark me up for the party, warranting a pat on the back from his brothers.

  This is the very last time, I promise myself as I lower down to my knees. Closing my eyes, I wrap my lips around him and suck the way he prefers. Temptation to bite the damn thing off gnaws at the back of my mind.

  He grunts through gritted teeth, setting the pace with a fist clenched in my hair. “That’s my girl. Take it all.”

  For the first time ever, tears don’t burn my eyes when he releases down my throat, nearly pulling my hair out in the process. If by some chance I don’t make it out of here, and he comes at me again with his pathetic dick, I promise myself I’ll slice it clean off with a cleaver.

  While Diesel’s napping, I reach into the ceiling tile in the pantry, checking on the backpack containing the contents for my ticket to freedom. For something so important, I’m amazed by its lightness. I yearn to grab it right this second, and run for my life, but I have to stick to the plan. The first time I tried leaving, I was too young and naive to be successful. This time I’m well prepared with a fully detailed plan, an escape vehicle, a considerable amount of cash…even a fake passport.

  Most importantly, this time I have an ally.

  There’s a spring in my step as I head to the clubhouse. Although I’ve never called anywhere else home, the commune has always felt restricted, as if the walls to the outside world are a little too high, the yards and houses surrounding us smaller than average. Tonight everything looks rundown and pathetic.

  Sometimes memories from when I was younger will break through, back to when my mother would take me to fun outings beyond the compound walls. Back to when I was allowed to go to school, and didn’t have to finish online. Long before my mother became a worthless drunk, and sealed my fate as my father’s prisoner.

  For years after my mom and Oliver died, I tried to hold onto the memories of those outings, but the details eventually all
became distorted. Aside from the time I tried to break out, all I’ve seen of the outside world since turning thirteen involved glimpses from the back of Diesel’s motorcycle.

  Hoping a smoke will help calm my frayed nerves, I light one up as I head across the property. As many times as I’ve tried to quit, getting a buzz from nicotine has become the only escape from my personal hell. I refuse to follow in my mother’s footsteps, and let alcohol control my life. Besides, it’s hard not to pick up the habit when literally everyone around me smokes one thing or another. More than ever, I need to stay in total control.

  Once I’m inside the gathering hall, I’m not surprised to find the celebration has already begun. Martyrs of Mayhem take their parties seriously, planning them months in advance. Though they’re nowhere near glamorous, they don’t hold back on expenses. For tonight’s patch party, a rock band from Minneapolis plays on one end of the room, while several of the club members and their old ladies slurp down keg beer on the other.

  The smoky aroma of the catered meal is canceled out by the stench of cigarette smoke and cheap beer. Reminded of the countless horrors I witnessed inside these four walls as a kid, my anxiety escalates. If I never have to set foot in this hell-hole again, it’ll be too soon.

  Bane, the club’s newest VP, camps out front and center on one of the leather sofas, a possessive arm locked around Sasha. My stomach churns when I notice the new bruising rimming one of my friend’s impossibly dark eyes. If I didn’t know she was putting on an act, I’d think she was perfectly happy here among these felons. The way she leans back against him, sexy smile on her petite lips between sips of her beer, she looks right at home. She’s a mirror image of the role I’ve been forced to play since the day I was forced to become Diesel’s old lady. The only difference is she has the freedom to come and go. But she chooses to stay. For me.

  “Andie, hey!” she calls out, waving a hand through the air.

  “Hey—” I pinch my lips together when I realize I was about to say “Sash.” Ever since she first pulled into the compound behind us three weeks ago, pretending she was ready to take Autumn up on her offer to become an old lady, I’ve had to constantly remind myself of the bogus name she chose. “Hey, Candi!”

  Bane’s dark eyes light as he takes notice of my skimpy tank top and extra short skirt. Simply because Bane claimed Sasha as his old lady doesn’t mean he’s loyal. It’s a given rule around here. Some old ladies roll with it, having affairs with other men on the side, or letting another woman into their bed. At least Bane’s getting his rocks off in other places to take the pressure off Sasha. I’ve told her a thousand times to make sure he always uses a condom. I can only pray she’s listened.

  He shifts Sasha to one side of his lap, patting his other knee. “Grab a beer, and bring your sexy ass over here, Andie.”

  He’s an enormous man, the biggest of all the MC members, so it’s not like either of us can ever put up a fight. But if Diesel was in the room, Bane wouldn’t be anywhere near as bold. It still doesn’t stop him from trying to hook up with me. It was only two weeks ago that he climbed into my bed naked while Diesel and my father were on a run. I thought for sure the knife I pressed against his balls would keep him from hitting on me again. Clearly I was wrong.

  “I’ll grab a beer with you,” Sasha offers, bouncing to her feet and slipping her arm through mine. “You all right?” she whispers once we’re far from Bane.

  Anger sears deep inside my chest. “Your eye.”

  It’s difficult to grasp the lengths she has gone to in trying to convince my father and everyone else in the MC that she’s legit. Too many times I’ve been unable to deal with the guilt, and tried to send her away. She refuses every time, insisting she knows too well what it’s like to be completely alone, and won’t abandon me for anything.

  Although she doesn’t like to delve into the details of her past, she did tell me one night that her brother was murdered, and the only people she cared about sent her away. Ever since her confession, it feels as if we’re all each other has in this world.

  “Don’t worry about my eye…it’ll heal,” she scolds, squeezing my arm. “Just stick to the plan. Once Diesel gets here, you play the loyal old lady and only leave his side to get him drinks. Don’t forget to make them extra strong. By the time the strippers arrive, everyone in this room will be shit-faced. As soon as Bane gets handsy with one, point it out to Diesel, and I’ll start a fight to get everyone riled up. That’s your chance to slip out unnoticed. Grab your shit from the house, and meet me back by the dumpsters. If I don’t make it back to you in five minutes, go without me. My car’s parked two blocks over on the right, keys in the front zipper of your backpack. I’ll find another opportunity to sneak out.”

  “We already talked about this,” I remind her with a stubborn shake of my head. “I’m not leaving without you.”

  “Yes, you are.” She turns to face me, dark brown eyes lit with kindness. “If you have an opportunity to finally leave this place, it’ll kill me if you don’t take it. We’ve been planning this for weeks. I don’t know about you, but I’ll gnaw my damn arm off if I’m forced to stay here another day. So please promise me you’ll get the hell out of here when you can, and trust that I’ll come find you if we’re separated.”

  Nodding, my heart skips in a wild staccato.

  Freedom has never felt this tangible.

  Club parties never really get going until the strippers arrive, and tonight’s no exception. The guys seem especially worked up over a blonde who hasn’t been to the clubhouse in forever, as well as the new blonde who never completely leaves her side. Noticing the newer girl’s edgy expression, I can’t help feeling a little sad for what she’s forced to endure. The strip club’s rules aren’t enforced within the clubhouse walls, meaning anything goes. I highly doubt she was informed of that when Pinky’s hired her for the night.

  On the far end of the clubhouse, I stand among a handful of club members and their old ladies, glued to Diesel’s side. The men get shit-faced and pass a joint around, yelling crude comments over the roar of the band’s instruments and the lead singer’s raspy voice.

  “Looks like Pinky’s sent us some fresh meat tonight.”

  “A hundred says Bane’ll be the one to break her in.”

  “Not if I get to her first.”

  Before long, my father breaches the circle, halting all conversation. The sober ones stand a little taller, showing him the level of respect the asshole thinks he deserves.

  Ajax Kennison only stands at 5’10”, which is considerably short compared to the other members. Aside from overly broad shoulders and thick biceps, he’s not exactly physically intimidating. I remember thinking as a little girl that my daddy was the most handsome man in the world. Now that his dark brown hair and well-trimmed goatee have turned gray, he’s distinguished enough to pass as a politician running for some kind of office, or a high-powered lawyer. But I’ve never seen him in anything other than the usual cut covered in patches and the club’s logo.

  Most people are blissfully unaware that a psychopath dwells behind those eyes the color of shit. A psychopath who believes his wife was a good human, and his offspring are disposable.

  I never saw him shed a single tear for Oliver. And more times than I could count, he’s asked why I couldn’t have been the one who died in the fire instead of my mother.

  Disdain oozes from every cell in his body when he glances my way. Pulse racing, I lick my cracked lips. Does he sense that I’m acting weird? Could he somehow be onto my plan?

  “Must you always dress like a whore?” he snarls.

  Hatred for the man rumbles through my chest with every deep syllable he utters.

  If he hadn’t made me a prisoner, I’d be wearing yoga pants and sweatshirts like most college girls my age. But for all I know, maybe that’s no longer the fashion. My knowledge of fashion revolves around TV shows I’m allowed to watch. They won’t even give me access to the internet unless someone is right behind
me, watching everything I do.

  If I had been able to finish school, I might’ve known what it was like to be asked to a school dance. I may’ve had a sweet boyfriend who wants to hold my hand rather than a monster who forces me to do his bidding.

  Maybe I even would’ve known what it was like to fall in love.

  He stole that right from me.

  He singlehandedly made me the “whore” standing in front of him.

  “Diesel bought it, said I had to wear it tonight,” I shoot back, thrusting my chest out to expose even more cleavage. “I think it makes my tits look amazing.”

  My old man’s loathsome stare cuts to Diesel. “You let her talk smart like that to you too?”

  Diesel snatches a handful of my hair, yanking with all his might until I yelp in pain. “No, sir. The bitch knows ‘er place.”

  With a joyous chuckle, my father nods his approval before addressing the other club members. “First thing tomorrow, we’re goin’ to church. We need to fine tune our plans to intercept Terrance Fisher’s shipment of military weapons to the Inferno Glory on the thirtieth. We need to ensure we’ve thought of everything.” He pauses to slap the club’s secretary on the shoulder. “The revenue from this deal will finally pay off all our debts, boys.”

  I openly gape at my father, wondering how he could possibly be serious. Terrance Fisher runs the South Side, and he’s been the club’s biggest adversary for years. My father’s been itching for any opportunity to dethrone Fisher, and wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice his men in the process.

  But Inferno Glory, a club run by veterans out in California, is an entirely different story. They have a violent history with the Martyrs that dates back to before I was born. Remembering the last time the Martyrs were stupid enough to go up against their club under my father’s command, the temptation to laugh manically bubbles in my throat. Two of my father’s men died in a brutal gunfight, and his oldest friend was gunned down the following day.