Authors: Lauren Gilley
Holly’s smile was wobbly and appreciative. “Hi.”
“You wanna hang out with us?” Ava asked. In a conspiratorial stage whisper, she said, “Those of us who don’t care about the strip show try to stay out of the way and not get stepped on.”
Holly looked uncertain, but she nodded. “Yeah, that sounds great.”
Over Holly’s head, Ava didn’t miss the look Michael shot her. Silently, he mouthed,
Thank you
.
Holly longed for her journal, so she could take notes, so she wouldn’t forget any of the important details.
Ava’s mother, Maggie, she already knew was married to Ghost, the club president. The other two women she hadn’t seen before at the bar. Nell – a blonde who wasn’t aging gracefully, but who had an infectious confidence and good humor – was married to a Dog named Hound. They had three children, all girls, all grown.
A Dog Hound had brought up from a prospect, grooming him to take over his duties someday, Rottie, was married to Mina, with a pretty, innocent face and a wealth of long black hair.
All of them were kind to her. None of them questioned her presence.
Until…
“So you came with Michael,” Nell said, and there was nothing sinister about her tone.
Still, Holly was cautious. She figured Michael had said nothing of her to them – that would have involved
talking
to humans – but she didn’t want to overstep her bounds. She wasn’t going to assert herself as anything other than what she knew to be true.
“I did,” she said. She traced the condensation on her tumbler of Crown and Coke with her fingertips; the drink was doing its job, easing the tightness in her chest. The table was helping, being tucked away from the crush at the center of the room.
“I can’t say I’ve ever seen him bring anyone around.” Nell glanced at the other women. “Y’all?”
“No.” Mina shook her head. “I don’t even see him with the girls much.”
Holly took a large swallow of her drink and wondered what that meant.
“He must really like you,” Maggie said, giving her a smile that was friendly in essence…but assessing too. A deft, perfected dichotomy that was as intimidating as it was inviting.
“Well, I…” She had no experience with this kind of feminine game-playing. “I don’t know if he does. I like him. Hopefully that counts for something.”
Like. What a terribly stupid, inadequate word for almost anything.
Maggie’s smile twitched. “Hopefully.”
“So,” Ava said with a deep breath, and sounded like she was trying to change the subject. “Did he warn you that things would be so crazy tonight?”
There was a collective cheer from the corner where the girl had been dancing before. Holly had some colorful ideas why.
“No,” she said, wincing. “I guess I should have expected it, but I just…”
“It’s a lot to take in,” Ava said, understanding. “Trust me, I’ve been around it my whole life, and it’s still grating.”
Holly returned her small smile, grateful for the friendly gesture.
“Aw, that’s ‘cause you’re young,” Nell said, waving away Ava’s assertion. “And ‘cause your man’s young, and all these Lean Bitches wouldn’t mind taking him home. It gets easier the older you get. You stop worrying so much.”
Ava frowned, clearly wanting to argue, but keeping quiet.
Holly took another sip of her drink and said, “Excuse me. I’m going to go find the restroom.”
“It’s down that hall,” Ava said. “First on the left. Don’t go farther than that, or you’ll be in the dorms.”
Holly had no idea what she meant, but it sounded ominous. “Thanks.”
She didn’t head for the hallway. Once she’d slipped between two Dogs and was out of sight of the table, she made a beeline for the front door. She tried to scan for Michael, but there were just too many people, and too much smoke. She dodged elbows and tripped over boots, coughing into her hand against the burn in her lungs. The farther she progressed through the tangle of bodies, the more desperate she became. Too much smoke, too much sweat-smell in the air, too much sex, sex, sex, all but punching her in the face each direction she looked. Like an explorer navigating the Amazon, she forced her way through the jungle of arms and legs.
And then suddenly she was free, going down the entry hall, bursting out into the cold night air.
Holly dragged in a huge, ragged breath and staggered to one of the steel support columns of the portico, a slender pole she wrapped an arm around and leaned against, pressing her hot forehead to the freezing metal.
“God,” she breathed, panting. Her heartrate was uneven, her pulse skittering in her ears.
She wanted to leave.
She wanted to be stronger than this.
She wanted Michael.
When she closed her eyes, it wasn’t this raucous party that filled her mind, but the old bedroom in the farmhouse. She felt the phantom ropes at her wrists, smelled the musty tang of sweat, heard the bed groan as another faceless worshipper climbed up and settled between her trembling legs.
Sex and terror were linked for her. She’d thought she would be less nervous now, after all that Michael had shown her, but tonight was setting her back, shoving her back, and she didn’t know how to stop it.
“Hey, are you alright?” a female voice asked.
Holly opened her eyes and saw that she was now surrounded. Three women stood around her, spaced loosely, posture casual. Non-threatening. One was the girl in the rhinestone bra from inside, the garment secured once more. Another was a thick-waisted redhead in a pleated Catholic schoolgirl skirt and fishnets, her white shirt knotted and unbuttoned to reveal the red bra underneath.
The third stood in the center, directly in front of Holly, a tan blonde with a black minidress and a dazzling smile. She had freckles on her chest, and chill bumps too, out here sleeveless in the cold.
She was the one who’d spoken. “You okay, hon?” she repeated, still smiling.
Holly nodded and straightened, still holding onto the pole for support. “Just overheated, I think. I’m fine.”
The redhead grinned. “Overheated’s the only way to be around here.”
The blonde said, “You’re new, aren’t you? Yeah, I haven’t seen you around.” She gestured to herself. “I’m Jasmine.” There were faint lines around her mouth and eyes that revealed she was older than she looked. “This is Chanel” – the redhead – “and Heather” – the one with the bra.
“Holly,” she said.
“Holly. That’s pretty,” Jasmine said. She stepped closer, into Holly’s personal space. “
You’re
pretty.” She reached and took a thick lock of Holly’s dark hair between her fingers. Her eyes lit up. “Ooh, you’d be perfect for baby boy. You know Tango? Have you met him? Come on, I’ll introduce you.” She reached for Holly’s hand. “I keep telling him he needs to try that whole ‘sweet girl’ thing, just to see if he likes it. I can come with you, get you two acquainted.” She winked, and the other two girls smiled. Her fingers latched onto Holly’s wrist and she tugged. “Don’t be nervous. He’s really sweet. Come on.”
Holly yanked her hand away, digging her heels in against the concrete. “I’m not here to sleep with anyone,” she said, horrified, stomach clenching so tight she thought she’d be sick.
Jasmine laughed. “No, hon, you for sure won’t be sleeping.”
Jesus, all these girls thought she was one of them. That she was some kind of biker groupie who’d come to get laid.
“Hey, Holly!” someone called, and she was saved…but only for a moment.
RJ appeared, striding out the front door and heading for them.
Jasmine and the other girls stepped back, giving him space – and her, by default.
“RJ. Hi.” She breathed a deep, shaking sigh of relief as he came to her. “I was trying to explain to them that–”
He didn’t wait for her to finish, but turned, and frowned at the three women over his shoulder. “You three get lost.”
They obeyed without question or protest, Jasmine ducking her head in a fast show of deference before they high heel sashayed their way back into the clubhouse.
Holly was stunned. “You can just order them around like that?” It was the first she’d seen anything like it in the world outside her old farmhouse prison.
RJ shrugged as he faced her again. “They’re Lean Bitches. They come here for one reason, and they know their place, most of the time.” When Holly continued to stare at him, horror-stricken, he said, “They’re groupies.”
She couldn’t suppress a shudder. “How terrible for them.”
He laughed. “They don’t think so.” He shifted closer, pushing into her bubble of personal space. “But who wants to talk about them, huh? I can’t believe you came. I’m glad you did” – another half-step closer – “but I’m surprised.”
Holly didn’t like his nearness. Or the way he was smiling at her. He seemed harmless enough…but then so had Dewey. Any man with any interest in her was anything but harmless. Michal was actively harm
ful
– to other people – and that was the rare comfort of him.
She swallowed against her nerves. “I’m here with Michael.”
RJ pretended to take a look at their surroundings. “Really? I don’t see him.” He turned a kind, sympathetic look down to her; sad for her, understanding, pitying. “Did you mean that you’re trying to find him? Ah, doll, he…how can I say this? He doesn’t bring people to parties. I’m not trying to hurt your feelings, but you’re wasting your time with him.”
Holly kicked up her chin. “He brought
me
to
this
party. We came on his bike.”
It had been terrifying and thrilling, the wind funneling around her, his lean waist solid and comforting in the small circle of her arms.
RJ laughed. “That’s a real cute story.” He dropped an arm across her shoulders. “Come on inside. We can have a drink.” His eyes caught the Christmas lights, gleaming with obvious excitement.
He tried to tow her forward, and every particle of Holly’s being rejected the weight of his arm across her shoulders. The sirens went off in her head: Danger, danger, danger. The assumed intimacy of a man, any man who wasn’t Michael, was like a razorblade down all her tender nerve endings. Her pulse became high and light in her throat. Her lungs tightened until it was painful to breathe.
“I-I-I can’t…” She stammered.
“Sure you can.” RJ steered her one step, and then two, trying to urge her back into that awful crowd inside the clubhouse. “Just one little drink. And you and me can get to know each oth–”
His words dissolved into a grunt as a fist impacted the side of his face.
Holly ducked away as he went staggering back, ripping his arm from around her shoulders. RJ caught himself against the support pole, struggling to regain his bearings. But his attacker was on him again, and he wasn’t going to give him a fighting chance.
Michael.
His fury was a visible whipcord of energy, snapping through him, tightening his face into the most blank, expressionless mask. Holly could see the tension in him, in his arms and torso, even through his clothes, the way each stride was longer than the one before it.
Without slowing, he closed the gap and he struck RJ again. This was no brotherly boxing match, nor a warning; not even a point to be made. Before RJ had a chance to collect himself, Michael’s punch caught him in the face, in the delicate bone structure to the side of his nose, with all of Michael’s weight behind it.
Dogs were spilling out of the clubhouse. “Jesus, he’s trying to kill him!” someone said.
RJ was on the ground, and if he was still conscious, it wasn’t by much.
Michael was closing in for a third assault when Mercy and another tall Dog, this one blonde, reached him.
Mercy caught Michael from behind with both arms and dragged him back. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he said. “You plan on him being able to use his jaw for the next six weeks? Or should I let you finish breaking it?”
Michael had no choice but to shuffle backward as the big Cajun hauled him off his quarry, but he didn’t answer.
The blonde was crouched beside RJ, lightly touching his face; Holly saw his finger lift up each eyelid, and check for pupil reaction. “He’s out,” he announced, and gathered the smaller man to his chest before he stood, lifting him up in his arms.