Haylee's Rider (Motorcycle Club Erotic Romance) (Book 1) (2 page)

Chapter 3

Backed Into a Corner

One hundred dollars.

That’s all I made that night.

Pathetic.

To make it worse, the one job I had—the old man—paid me in a bunch of five-dollar bills and change. It took me fifteen minutes to count once I got home.

I walked over to my closet, with half of my night’s earnings. I reached up, on the inside of the closet, and stashed the money into a little nook—my own personal little bank.

“Hey,” a familiar voice said behind me.

I turned sharply towards the voice. It was Matthew, my pimp. He was a tall, skinny man with blonde hair. He had a permanently angry expression on his face, and he stood with terrible posture. He was the one who got me into the business.

In a lot of obvious ways, I resent him for putting me into this mess, but he also gave me something when I had nothing. It wasn’t as black and white as you’d think. I was hungry and homeless. A lot of really bad people had their eyes on me. I was a perfect target for human trafficking—for rape, or worse. Matthew came along and took me in. He gave me the choice—He didn’t force me into it. I made the decision. And, when I started out, I thought his terms were pretty fair. He gets eighty dollars of my two hundred dollar rate.

Which meant tonight, I was only supposed to make twenty-dollars. A degrading fuck with a creepy old man, for twenty messily dollars.

“Hey—Matthew,’ I said awkwardly.

“What’s up, Haylee? You’ve been dodging me the last few days.”

“I’ve just been—I’ve just been tired. I’m trying to get myself together.”

“You owe me some money. A few days worth.”

“Right—I know,” I said. “I’ve got it.”

I reached into my back pocket and pulled out one hundred and sixty dollars. I handed it to him.

He counted it quickly and then looked up at me, unimpressed.

“Two jobs in four days? You expect me to believe this?” he asked.

“It’s been slow—I don’t know what to tell you,” I said.

“You can tell me the truth,” he said.

I looked him in the eyes. I’ve never looked into anything emptier than Matthew’s eyes. There was no soul inside of that man.

“That’s the truth,” I said.

“Bull shit,” he said.

He walked over to my closet, reached up into my “little bank” and pulled out my savings. He quickly counted it.

“How long have you been saving this?”

“Long—That’s all mine,” I said.

“Well, seeing as you’re lying to me, I’ll just go ahead and take my forty percent.” Matthew pulled half of the money out of the wad and stuffed it into his pocket.

“Matthew!” I said, as I watched half of my year’s savings disappear.

“You go sneaking around behind my back, stealing my money, then this is the consequence.”

“Please, Matthew. That’s all I have.”

“You want more? Then get back out on that street,” he said. “I saved you, Haylee. You owe me.”

There was a vein in Matthew’s head that was beginning to throb. He was reaching his tipping point—the point where he would start to get physical. It wasn’t uncommon for him to beat up his girls. I’d even been the victim of his aggression a few times.

“O—Okay,” I said.

He stared me in the eyes for a moment, and then turned to leave.

“Matthew,” I said.

“What?”

“Can I just have one-hundred of that—I need it for rent.”

He thought for a moment. “Okay,” he said. He walked up to me and handed me one hundred from the stolen wad. “But then you owe me two-hundred.”

I sighed, accepting the terrible loan agreement.

Every time I thought I was getting closer to cleaning my life up, I was pulled back into the gutters. Maybe the gutter was where I belonged—maybe the life of a struggling prostitute was the only life I would ever know.

I watched as Matthew left my shitty apartment with my money, slamming the door behind him. Tears began to form in my eyes.

I walked over to my bed and fell down onto it. I stared up at the ceiling.

“What are you going to do?” I asked myself. “How did you get into this fucking mess?”

Chapter 4

Another Day, Another Dollar

I stood back out my usual corner, this time wearing my sluttiest little outfit, and my tallest heels. Even though it was freezing cold, I had to get a good job—I couldn’t keep settling for cheap little old men. I couldn’t settle for twenty-dollar gigs.

I looked around the street. It was Saturday night, and almost every single whore I knew was out looking for work. Getting a job wasn’t going to be easy.

I stood tall and made sure my strut was sexy. I walked up and down the street, eyeing every single car that passed.

As luck would have it, a little silver car pulled up next to me. I walked up to his window, as he rolled it down. He was kind of cute—in his thirties, with a darker beard. He was kind of a thicker man, but in no ways “fat”. He smiled at me.

“Hey beautiful,” I said, smiling at the man.

“Hello,” he said shyly.

“Looking for some company?” I asked.

“I’m actually looking for a girl—She’s a redhead. A bit shorter than you.”

My hopes sunk into my stomach and died. “Pepper?” I asked.

“Yeah—That’s her. Do you know her?” the bearded man asked.

“Yeah—I haven’t seen my tonight.”

“Do you know when she’ll be here?” he asked.

“No—But maybe you’d like to show
me
that big cock of yours.”

“Actually, I’d really like to see Pepper. Thanks anyway,” the man said.

He drove away.

Fuck
.

I sighed and continued to walk up and down the street. Across the street, one of my friends was being picked up. Not only was I poor and broke, but also I was starting to doubt my own looks.

Then, I heard a growing hum in the distance. I could feel the ground vibrating subtly as something powerful approached. I turned around and looked down the road.

A thick, metallic hog was coming towards me. Its headlight was shining bright. The man sitting on the bike was older—with a great big long grey beard. He was thicker, and didn’t wear a helmet while he biked. He looked like a member of ZZ Top.

He slowed as he approached the red-light district. He looked left and right, scanning the different girls.

Not many people liked being picked up by bikers—myself included. But tonight, I needed what I could get. I needed anything. I walked up to the curb and stood tall. I bit my lip flirtatiously and winked at the oncoming biker.

I could see a smile wipe across his face. I was what he was looking for.

I had mixed emotions. There were a lot of gangs in the area, and Matthew told us to avoid any gang activity. He warned us that the gangs were looking to snatch girls up—to be ‘gang girls’, or ‘private prostitutes’.

The bearded biker pulled up next to me. He looked me up and down for a moment before saying anything.

“Hey babe,” he said.

“What’s going on, honey?” I asked.

“You feel like working a party?” he asked.

“What kind of party?”

“A few boys—Haven’t seen any action in a while.”

I felt a cold wind cross over my body, and my hairs stood up on the back of my neck. “I don’t do party discounts or anything,” I said.

“That’s fine. We’ve got money. What’s your rate?” he asked.

I thought for a moment. “Two-fifty an hour,” I lied. “Per person.”

“I’ll give you a thousand for the night,” he said.

I thought about it—I wanted to say no, but this was the best opportunity I was going to see all night.

“O—Okay,” I said.

“Hop on,” the man said. He patted the back of his seat.

Carefully, I climbed over onto the hog. It was warm, and it sexily hummed and vibrated as the biker man revved up the engine.

“What’s your name, honey?” he asked.

“Bubble gum,” I said.

“I’m Hunter,” he said.

“Nice to meet you, Hunter,” I said.

“Likewise,” Hunter said as he took off.

I looked to my side. All of my hooker friends watched as the biker took me away. I could see in their faces that they knew I was risking myself. It was a worthwhile risk—a thousand bucks was enough for me to pay off my debt to Matthew, and more.

We drove outside of town, to a rundown little bar in the country. There was a parking lot filled with shiny metal hogs. Also in the parking lot were large drums full of fire, with men standing around them—burly biker men with beards and leather coats. Almost every single person in the lot was smoking a cigarette.

We parked, and then Hunter led me across the parking lot. Heads turned and looked me up and down as my heels clicked against the hard cement lot. One particularly old and creepy man smiled, showing off his toothless mouth. Another man had a long, fresh looking scar across his face. I was starting to regret my decision to take the job from Hunter.

The bar was booming. The music inside of it was loud, and the deep bass of the classic rock tunes rocked all the way to the street. Every time someone walked in or out of the bar, you could hear a loud snippet of the music as the door was opened briefly.

Hunter walked up to the small, iron door and held it open for me.

I forced a smile and then walked in.

The room was filled with cigarette smoke, and smelled like a bottle depot. It was stale. There were a number of occupied pool tables, and all of the thirty or forty men in the joint had a beer bottle in hand. Almost every single man had a beard.

“These are the boys,” Hunter said.

My heart stopped—I couldn’t possibly please all of these men. I was overwhelmed.

“A—All of them?” I asked.

Hunter laughed. “Not all at once,” he said.

Hunter put two of his fingers into his mouth and then whistled loudly, pulling over the attention of every man in the bar. The man at the bar turned down the music.

“Listen up,” Hunter said.

The bar went silent, as a room full of horny, burly men looked me up and down.

“Here’s tonight’s entertainment. I’s shy, so make my feel welcome, and remember that there’s more than one of you—so if you’re up first, don’t wear my out.”

I felt faint. I scanned all the eager faces in the crowd—none of these men planned to go easy. None of these men were going to be gentle. I would be lucky to leave the place in one piece.

“My name’s Bubble Gum. Bubble Gum, these are the boys,” Hunter said again.

Men whistled and cheered.

“Show us your tits!” someone in the crowd yelled.

I forced an awkward smile. “Take it easy, fellas—There’s a lot of night still ahead of us,” I announced.

“I want my first,” one of the scarier men said. His face was weathered, and scarred all over. He looked like the kind of guy who was incapable of smiling. His eyes were dark and brooding.