Raw: The Ultimate Mc Collection (21 page)

“Twenty thousand?” I asked. 

“Sure…” he said, shrugging.  “No big deal…”

I walked back to the window, leaned in, my low cut dress threatening to spill my breasts out into his car.

“What did you have in mind? I don’t have much time.”

“Get in,” he said.  I looked into his eyes once more, trying to decide if I could trust him.  He didn’t look violent.  He didn’t look like a murderer.  But if there was anything I had learned throughout the years, it was that looks were deceiving.

I stood up, looking up and down the street.  I could see the high rise three blocks away.  Monty was in there, waiting for me, expecting me.  Ready to kick my ass if I showed up late.

But twenty thousand dollars could take me far away from here.  If I had that much, I could get so far away that Monty would never find me.  I could change my name, my identity.  I could start over.  I could be a whole different person.  Live a whole different life.

“Show me the cash,” I said, proud of myself for requiring proof.

He smiled, reached over and pulled a briefcase onto his lap.  He opened it.  It was filled with perfectly stacked bundles of cash.

As if it had a mind of its own, my hand reached for the door handle and opened it.  I slid in beside him, the warm leather seat smooth under my bare legs.  I turned to him, and smiled.

“So, Ben,” I said, “where are we headed?”

Ben smiled, and reached into his suit pocket.

“Downtown,” he said, showing me his bright, shiny badge.

CHAPTER TWO

Riot

“Why don’t you ever fuck me anymore?”

I groaned and turned away from the pissed off woman standing in front of me.  Ruby was a pistol.  Full of neediness, sarcasm and bitterness, she had become a royal pain in my ass.  All she wanted to do was fuck, and while I used to be ready as soon as her panties hit the floor, lately, I just couldn’t seem to get it up for her.

“I’ve just got a lot on my mind, Ruby…” I murmured as I walked away.  I made it three steps into the Gods of Chaos MC clubhouse before she followed me.

“Riot! Don’t just walk away from me like that!”

I stopped and she bumped into my back.  As I turned, I felt that familiar anger bubbling up inside.  I didn’t want to be an asshole.  I wasn’t heartless like most of the other Gods.  I wouldn’t dare lay a hand on a woman.  And Ruby knew that.  Maybe that’s why she was so reluctant to get the hint I had been trying to give her the last few weeks.

“Ruby, look.  I’m just not feeling it, okay?  It’s not you…” I said, before I walked away again, leaving her standing alone by the front door.  But it was.  Maybe if I was really a decent guy, I would have told her the truth.  Told her that her constant neediness was a turn off.  That the way she flaunted herself around in front of the other Gods just to make me jealous had the opposite effect.  That, for some reason, I had decided I just didn’t like spending time with her anymore.

I heard her sob behind me, and the sound of her footsteps as she ran out the front door.

It was just as well,
I thought.  She had been hanging around the clubhouse for the last two months, and I just couldn’t give her what she wanted.  It was hard enough being in her presence.  Fucking her was the last thing on my mind these days.

Truth was, I didn’t know anyone I wanted to fuck.

So many women had passed through the clubhouse doors over the years, and I had partaken in my share of them.  I had a great time, don’t get me wrong.  There’s nothing like taking two, three or even four women to bed at the same time.  I had some great memories.

But I had begun to want more.

Unfortunately, as a member of the Gods of Chaos Motorcycle Club, that was nothing more than a dream.  Relationships were for normal people.

We were far from normal.  We were the rejects of society.  The very definition of rebellion.  A gang of misfit criminals.

We didn’t ‘do’ normal.

The only person who had managed to find some semblance of a normal relationship was our President, Ryder.  And if he hadn’t stumbled upon Grace about to get her teeth kicked in by a pimp on the dirt road leading to our clubhouse, he never would have met someone like her.

Now that Grace had left the police force, and given up her job as an undercover cop, she and Ryder had built a strong life together.  They were doing good work together, too - hell, we all were.  I was glad Ryder had met Grace - it had given all of us once-worthless Gods a chance to redeem ourselves by doing some good in the world.  We had formed an underground railroad of sorts to help the women that needed it the most.  It was a perfect marriage of chaos and vigilantism.

Not that we were exactly on the right side of the law.  We still performed our job, we just balanced out our karma with saving a few people in the meantime.

That was just the way it went.

We had all given up on normal long ago.

The chaos still existed.

It ruled our lives.

It permeated the very fabric of our souls.

And there wasn’t a one of us that could fucking live without it.

CHAPTER THREE

Lacey

“What are you in for, Princess?”  The large woman sitting next to me on the hard wooden bench leaned heavily into me, her massive breasts pressing into the goose bumped flesh of my right arm.

It was freezing.  I was shivering.  If her breath wasn’t so offensive, I might have welcomed the warmth of her body.  Instead, I leaned away.

I could have gotten up and walked to the other side of the jail cell, but my options were limited.  Various women of all shapes, sizes, and mental stability lined the walls, and there were only two other seats available, both of which would have left me sitting next to women that were even more scary than the woman next to me.

She wouldn’t have been so bad if she would only stop talking.  I was freaking out, and I had been for the last two hours, but I was trying desperately not to show it and keep my cool. The last thing I wanted was to hear this woman’s life story.

“It was mistake,” I murmured. 

“Yeah, that’s what they all say,” she replied. “So, what, prostitution?”

“Yeah, but I’m not…a prostitute.  Not like that, anyway…” I replied.

“So what kind of prostitute are you?” she asked, chuckling heartily, her hot, rancid breath hitting the side of my face with full force.

“I’m not a street hooker, this is all a mistake,” I replied.  Why was I telling her that?  I slammed my mouth shut.  Monty was already going to kill me, I didn’t need to be talking to anyone in here.

“Oh, you’re one of those high class bitches, huh?  I know your type, I get it,” she said, her eyes trailing up and down my body.  “You got yourself a sugar daddy, honey?  He takes care of you, buys you things, takes you out on the town?”

“Hardly,” I scoffed.  I couldn’t remember the last time Monty took me anywhere that didn’t end up rewarding him with either more power or more money.  That was all he cared about.  I was just a tool to help him achieve those things.

Maybe it was because I was exhausted.  Maybe it was because my heels were digging into the back of my ankle.  Maybe it was because I was sitting in a goddamned jail cell with a bunch of incredibly scary women, and it was a stark reminder that my life never had been and never would be normal.  Whatever it was, it still had the same effect - I started crying.  My eyes filled with tears, and as soon as they began spilling down my face, the anger hit me.

Of course, one would never know.  I shoved it down to the depths of my heart, just as I always did.  Anger, shame, pain, they were all things I couldn’t afford to let myself feel.  As was sadness.  As quickly as the tears began, I wiped them away, took a deep breath, and they were gone.

I was surprised they had even surfaced at all.  If I hadn’t been sitting in jail, I would have beat myself up about it for days.  I granted myself a small bit of forgiveness, and lifted my chin defiantly.

I was strong.   I could handle any situation.  Monty would be here soon, and although I knew he was going to beat the hell out of me as soon as he got me home, at least I would be out of here before too long.

All I needed to do was focus on the task at hand, and if that meant enduring a conversation with the babbling woman next to me, then fine.

I turned to her, and saw she was staring at me intently.

“You’re a strong bitch, huh?”

I sighed.  Shrugged.

“How old are you?” she asked.

“Twenty-two.”

“You’re so young, darling.  You’ve got your whole life ahead of you.  You should get yourself an education and leave this life.  Whether you got yourself a sugar daddy or a pimp, or whatever you wanna call him, girl, it just ain’t worth it.”

I sighed again, her words seeping into my brain, even though I tried to push them out.

“That’s not really an option for me,” I said.  I met her eyes, and they pierced my soul.  Why was she saying this stuff to me?  She had no reason to be nice to me, to even say a word to me.

“Well, now, that’s where you’re wrong,” she said.

“You don’t understand…” I said.

“Enlighten me.” 

“Forget it,” I said, turning away.   I was being rude, but what use were manners in a place like this?  I crossed my arms over my chest, and folded into myself.

“Okay, okay, it’s all good,” she said, herself turning away and scanning the room before she kept talking.  “See that girl right there?” she asked, pointing her chin to a terrifyingly skinny black woman in the corner across from us.  She was talking to herself, her hands waving in front of her face.

I nodded.

“That’s Sylvia.  She’s here almost every weekend.  She belongs to Mario Sanchez, he’s the leader of the Los Gatos street gang.  He’s been pimping out Sylvia, and a few dozen other women, for years. He gets ‘em young. Turns ‘em out, gets ‘em addicted, most of ‘em get pregnant, have crack babies that either die or get taken away before they even get a chance to hold ‘em.”

I took a deep breath, nodded.

Where the fuck was Monty?

What was taking him so fucking long?

“And over there?  You see that girl puking in the bucket?”

A very young girl was bent over, her face pushed into a dirty bucket.  She straightened up, and her stringy blonde hair was stuck to her face.  She brought a filthy, shaking hand up to push her hair behind her ear and her eyes met mine.

They were dead.  I expected anguish.  Pain or sadness.  But there was nothing there at all.  She was a living zombie.  I broke her gaze and turned away, keeping my eyes glued to the floor as the woman next to me kept talking.

“That’s Misty.  She’s hooked on heroin.  Her step-dad pimped her out to his friends when she was young, and she ran away.  She lives on the streets.  If you can call that living.  All she cares about is how she’s going to get her next fix.  She doesn’t care what she has to do to get it.”

“Look, why are you telling me all this?”  I asked, the anger bubbling up inside me, threatening to spill out of my eyes in another torrent of unwanted tears.

“Because you’re just like them.”

“No, I’m not!” I answered, a little too emphatically.  Head turned, dozens of eyes landed on me.  I shut my mouth and glued my gaze back to the cement floor in front of me.  She was more right than she knew.

“Yes, you are, Princess…I can see it in those dead eyes of yours.  Here,” she said, and she pushed a card into my hand.

“What’s this?” I asked.  The card was blank, except for a black phone number printed on it.  No names, just a number.

“A way out.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Sometimes, women don’t want out.  Women like Sylvia, and Misty. They don’t have that burning desire for a better life.  Sometimes, they do.  Something tells me you want out.  Maybe you think you’re in too deep, or you can’t do it alone.  Maybe you need a little help.  You call this number, you’ll find some help.  It’s not the cops, I promise you.  But they’ll help you, no matter what it takes. It’s not too late to save yourself.”