Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 76082 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76082 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
"Hey, hot shit," says a stubbled biker in a wife-beater, nursing a foul-smelling cigar. His leather vest has a patch that reads 'Fucked and Free'. Awesome. “You one of the new sluts?"
Mortified, I shake my head. I've learned enough biker lingo in my short time here to know the sluts are girls who hang around the club and are basically open for business for the members. I don’t know why they do it. Maybe for the thrill, or to score drugs off the guys, or maybe they want the security of being someone's old lady, which I guess is sort of like wives. I don’t want to judge, but I’m definitely not one of them.
Up until now this has all felt like a bad movie, but now it’s all too real. It’s clear Crusher doesn’t expect me to make a hundred grand tonight, which means I either have to figure a way out of this, or belonging to one of these creeps might start to sound good. We lost our parents four years ago, and there’s no family to turn to for help. I failed my sister once. I won’t do it again.
I want to plop my ass down on the grimy floor and bawl my eyes out, but that didn’t help when I didn’t know how to parent a grieving teenager when I was still a kid myself, and it won’t do anything now. If this is how it's going to go, then I need to make the best out of it, and make as much money as I can. Sex is just bodies. It isn’t who I am or what I’m really worth.
I keep whispering that to myself.
With a deep breath that shoves my chest out and shows off my sideboobs through the tank top sleeves, I square my shoulders and paste a smile on my face. Someone out there tonight is going to take my virginity, so let’s make it worth it.
5
ANIMAL
The Unwanted clubhouse is a fucking shithole. Peeling paint, holes in the walls, and I’m pretty sure that pattern on the rug is mold, not dye. Martha Stewart would have a fit, and she’s been to fucking prison. Jesus fucking Christ, they could at least crack a fucking window. The big, old building was a mansion in its glory days, but it must’ve fallen on hard times even before the Unwanted moved in.
The place is packed, but our cuts get attention pretty fucking quick. Despite the tight quarters, the Screaming Eagles logo forms a bubble around us. Everyone knows we rule South Side, and they're smart to wonder what the fuck we’re doing at a rival club—as rival as a little bunch of piss ants like these guys can be.
Fucking let them whisper.
I don't give a shit. We're here to make them notice. Just being here is throwing down a gauntlet, so let’s see if they have the balls to answer.
"How long before someone tries to fuck around?" asks Badass, scanning the crowd for trouble. He put on a black bandanna and black leather gloves for the occasion and he's idly flexing his fists. I haven’t seen him itching for a fight like this since back when he was pro.
"They're gonna feel us out," says Quickshot. "See what the fuck we're up to. They're not going to dare to face us down directly. It'd be the end of their fucking club."
"Maybe, but I'm kinda hoping anyway." Badass laughs harshly, then catches the eye of one of the guests who can’t hide his curiosity. "Whatcha looking at, fuckface?" The guy nearly falls over in his mad scramble to get away, conveniently leaving us a table.
The auction starts with a pile of motorcycle parts, probably stolen. I shake my head. “We came here for this? Maybe we’re giving them too much credit. What’s next? Backyard weed?” Sure enough, that’s what comes up. “Let’s go.”
"Give it five fucking minutes, at least." Badass shakes his head. "Even if we were wrong, Eagle-eye's no fool. If he thinks somethings up, I fucking trust him."
He's right, but this is boring, and nobody likes it when I get bored.
"If it isn't the fucking crying eagles." A thick-waisted guy with a two-day shadow and nicotine stained teeth steps out of the crowd and stands with his arms crossed by our table. He's wearing an Unwanted cut and looks eager for trouble. Eagle-eye said we shouldn't make none, but if it comes looking for us…
"Big words from one of the Unwashed," I snap back. "We heard there was interesting shit here, but all I see is shit, and none of it’s interesting."
He laughs. "You're here to buy? I find that fucking hard to believe."
Quickshot leans back in his chair, hands behind his head. "I don’t give a shit what you believe. You've been making waves lately, and any business that’s happening on our turf, we want to know about. Consider us ambassadors, and think real hard before you start shit you can’t finish.”