Corrupted (2 page)

As we walk into the warehouse, something feels off. I put my hand out stopping Twisted from walking any further.

“What are you doing, Prospect?”

Prospect.

That’s my only identity right now. It is not easy to become a full-fledged brother in the Deathstalkers MC. Most prospects have a year wait until the club decides they have proven their loyalty. Being a prospect is basically another term for bitch boy. You are at the club’s beck and call. Whenever they say jump you don’t even ask how high you just go for it.

“Something’s off.” I look around and that’s when I see it. Blood. Not a lot of it but enough to tell me that whoever was in here had multiple wounds. I nod to the trails on the floor and Twisted reaches for his phone.

“Pres, someone’s been here, or is still here. There’s blood on the floor. Prospect and I will check it out and I’ll let you know.” He pauses for a minute before sliding the phone back into the pocket of his jeans. “Get your gun out and keep your eyes open.”

I nod to him. If whoever broke in is still here, they are idiots. It is well known that this warehouse belongs to the club, which basically marks it as off limits. That’s when I see it. A small scrap of white fabric peeking out from under a crate.

I tap Twisted on the shoulder pointing him in the direction and we slowly move toward the crate. He signals to me that he is going to lift it up. His fingers count to three, and when the crate disappears, I’m stunned at what’s under it.

It’s a girl.

She looks really young and is cowering in the corner her head tucked between her knees. She begins to whimper and her body shakes with the tears I have no doubt are pouring from her eyes.

“Who the fuck are you and what the fuck are you doing here?” Twisted’s voice booms and I see her shake from the force. I squat down to her level. “When she swipes a blade out and slits your throat you’re gonna be sorry, Prospect.”

I know what he is saying makes sense. I don’t know who this girl is or if she was sent by someone. Except my gut is telling me that she came here looking for help, not trouble. I slip my gun back into my waistband. “Hey.” I tap her arm and she recoils closer to the wall. “Chill out. I’m not gonna hurt ya.”

Her head raises an inch and I am looking at the most gorgeous damn eyes I’ve ever seen. They are as blue as those oceans you see on commercials for exotic resorts. As beautiful as they are, they are full of an immense amount of pain and fear, not only that but they’re red-rimmed from crying. Her arms are covered in scratches, and I can see blood trailing down her legs.

I clear my throat trying to soften my voice and ease her nerves. “Listen, you gotta start talking. If you don’t he is just gonna yell and kick you out on your ass. Why are you here?”

“I . . . I need h-help.” Her voice is barely above a whisper.

“Do you want us to drop you off at the police station? Or call them? We sure as shit can’t bring ‘em here but we can take you somewhere to meet ‘em.” Calling the cops at any point is off the table. However, I can tell by her appearance that she needs some kind of help.

Her head lifts all the way. “No, please!” She tries to yell but her voice cracks halfway through. “You can’t. They know the cops. They’ll make me go back. They’ll kill me!” I look up at Twisted as if asking him what to do. “You guys are the bikers right? C-can you help me?”

“Help you how? How old are you?” People tend to run from us not to us. So to have her lookin’ at me like I’m her guardian angel is more than a little outta place.

Her teeth bite down on her bottom lip. “Fourteen.”

“Fuck this shit,” Twisted shouts startling her again. “She’s a fucking minor. She needs to go.”

“Please! I need help. I don’t have anyone.” Her eyes plead with me and that’s when I take in the state of the rest of her body. She is wearing a dirty long sleeved white dress. There is a bruise under her left eye, blood dripping from the multiple cuts on her legs, and she is cradling her wrist as if there is something wrong with it. I stand up and walk over to Twisted.

“This shit has trouble written all over it. We need to kick her the fuck out of here.” His voice is hard and his face unaffected as he looks over at her. He has been a brother for years and I know he is probably right.

As I glance back in her direction I can’t help but feel some sort of pull to help her. I shake my head. “We can’t just do that. It ain’t right.”

“Fine! You want to stick your neck out for her underage ass then you talk to the Pres about it!” Twisted takes his phone, says a short greeting then passes it to me.

“What the fuck is going on there?” Shooter, our President, yells in my ear. He has been president of the MC for five years, and is not used to waiting for anything, especially information.

“We got a girl here. She looks beaten up, and is askin’ for help. Claimin’ she can’t go to the cops, ‘cause they’ll bring her back to wherever she ran from.” I hold my breath waiting for his reply. I would hate to dump this girl somewhere but if he gives the order, I don’t have a damn choice.

“What are you not fucking telling me?” Everyone has always said that the Pres is like a damn lie detector, he’s good even over the phone.

“She’s fourteen.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He is silent for a long time, so long that I pull the phone away to check and see if he hung up. “You and Twisted bring her here. Make sure she knows that ain’t no guarantee of shit, but she had to be desperate to hide in our fucking place.” The click sounds in my ear and I turn to Twisted. “He wants us to bring her to the clubhouse.” His face contorts in anger and disbelief before he shakes his head and walks away.

I move back to her. “I’m gonna take you to our clubhouse. My President wants to talk to you. My only advice is don’t lie to him, if you do he’ll know and he won’t hesitate to throw you out on your ass.” She simply nods and moves to stand up.

I watch her struggle before offering her a hand. She freezes almost immediately as if the idea of touching me scares the shit out of her.

“I’m not gonna hurt ya, Sweets.” Her eyes go wide at my statement. She slowly takes my hand, her body shaking vigorously. Thank God we took the damn truck because there is no way she could handle being on the back of a bike right now.

I lead her outside and once we step out the door her eyes dart around. She’s looking for whoever she was running from. I find myself pulling her closer to me in an effort to make her feel safe. I don’t even know her story but any animal that would beat on a kid needs to be taught a lesson.

We walk to the truck and I help her in then climb in next to her before closing the door.

“She needs to keep her damn head down if there really are people looking for her.” I nod at Twisted. I can tell by his voice he is agitated we are dealing with this.

When I look at her, she ducks her head to the point that it is resting on my thigh.

Looking down at her even in the state she is, she is fucking gorgeous. Her long dark hair cascades down her back. As we drive I want to ask her what happened to her, but I don’t knowing that it would piss the Pres off. He is going to want her story first and not want anyone else trying to get involved.

I see her cradling her wrist once more.

“Something wrong with your hand?” She jumps at the sound of my voice. She is really skittish.

“I-I think it’s broken.” She doesn’t say anything else. She seems to relax as we continue to drive.

We pull up to the clubhouse and the metal gates begin to open.

Hopefully, her story is good.

And he believes it.

As I walk into what he referred to as the clubhouse, my body aches with each step I take, and my heart speeds up. The place smells of whiskey like my father used to drink, and cigarettes. This is my shot. I need to convince them to help me. If they choose not to, I know my family will find me. I have no resources, no money, nowhere to go.

The one who helped me is walking next to me. As we pass all the men, I don’t dare meet any of their eyes. I can feel their stares on me and my entire body is on edge. I stop when I see a large set of boots. Looking up I see an older man, wearing a leather vest and the patch that says “President.” This is the man who holds my life in his hands. My entire body shakes as my nerves get the best of me.

“You two stay out here.” He looks behind me. “Come on in.” He holds the door open for me and I slowly walk through it and sit in one of the many chairs at the large wooden oval table. “You need to get up girl. You don’t have a patch you don’t sit there.”

I jump up, standing in front of the table, scared to even lean on it for support.

“I ain’t gonna mess around.” He sits down. “What were you doing in our warehouse? Anyone send you in there? You been hired by someone?”

I shake my head quickly. “I needed somewhere to hide.” I don’t meet his eyes. I’m scared if I do that I might cry.

“What ya hidin’ from? What’s your story girl?” I can tell by his hard tone that he has very little patience.

I take a deep breath before raising my eyes to him. “My name is Lucy Evans, and I’m fourteen. My family is extremely religious, and all the men have multiple wives. Today was supposed to be my wedding day.” His eyes grow wide at my admission. “I was to be married to my uncle who already has nine other wives. He’s abusive to all of them, two are actually my cousins. When I told my mother last night that I couldn’t go through with it, she wouldn’t accept it. My uncle and my father beat me and then tied me to the bedpost. I think I broke my wrist trying to break the rope, but I got away. When I heard the trucks start, I knew they were coming for me. I saw your warehouse and from what I’d heard, they would never step foot in there. I guess I fell asleep at some point because your guys woke me up this morning.” I breathe finally after saying that all so fast that I’m not sure he heard everything. Admitting the depravity of my family is hard. Telling someone that your family wants to find you and give you to a rapist is humiliating.

He nods his head as he digests my story. “What do ya think we can do for you?”

There’s the golden question. “I’m not sure. I didn’t go there with the intention of you finding me. I was so tired. I couldn’t run anymore.” Tears stream down my face as I gnaw on my lip. “I have nowhere to go. If they find me they will turn me over to my uncle and I know without a doubt that he will kill me.”

“So you’re looking for protection?” His eyebrow arches at me. I look down ashamed that I am so incapable of helping myself. When I nod, I hear him sigh. “The club would need to vote on this. Since this could cause us a shitload of trouble, we’ll be voting on your fate. If we keep you, our protection comes with a price. You’ll be working off your room and board. You will be ours, we protect what is ours, but you fuck up and you’re out.”

What does he mean ‘work it off’? What would they expect of me? A part of me worries that I might have walked into a situation as bad as the one I escaped from. I know nothing about these people. I look at the man sitting in front of me and as hard as his face is I can see softness in his eyes as he looks me over. I don’t know why but something is telling me that I will be safe here. “I understand.” A small glimmer of hope sparks inside of me.

“I’m bringing the brothers in, you’re gonna tell ‘em your story, then get out. The Prospect will keep an eye on you.” I look up at him. He wants me to tell his men what happened to me. What will happen if they don’t want to help me? I’m scared, nervous, but I have to survive and this is my only option. “Rule number one, girl, no lies, no secrets.” He stands up and shouts for all brothers to come into the room. He motions for me to stand next to him.

“This here is Lucy. She’s in a bit of a situation. She’s gonna share and we’re gonna vote. It’s all or nothing.” They all nod at him and then their eyes land on me. As I look at the men sitting around the table their faces are all unreadable, stoic. I notice the one man from earlier but he shows no favoritism toward me. I cradle my throbbing wrist and train my eyes on the floor. I can’t look at them as I once again recount my weakness. I have no way to take care of myself, I need these men.

Throughout the telling of my story, I hear murmuring and sounds of disgust. “Ok girl, go wait with the Prospect while we vote”

I nod, but before turning to leave, I lift my eyes to look at them. Stone cold faces stare back at me and there is no way I can read what is on their minds. I walk out of the room and see four guys standing around talking. The one who helped me earlier hands me a bottle of water.

“Thought you might need this. You can have a seat if you want.”

I thank him before moving over to sit on one of the leather couches.  Uncertainty runs through me as I digest where I am and what could become of my life. While this place holds unknown, leaving here holds nothing for me. My family will find me in no time, and once they do, I’m as good as dead.

Please let them vote yes.

It feels like an eternity as I sit and wait to hear my fate. When the door opens, my eyes shoot up. The men start to exit the room, their faces still unreadable. I’m called back in by their president and on shaky legs I move into the room once more.

“The club voted yes. You can stay.” My face breaks out in a wide smile. “It ain’t gonna be easy on you though. Until you are eighteen, you are not allowed to leave this clubhouse without permission from me, is that understood? I can’t chance someone seein’ ya and your disappearance gettin’ pinned on us.” I nod. “You will have a room here and will be expected to clean and cook for the brothers. I ain’t gonna lie to you. Things get wild here, you’ll have to get used to that. I told the brothers no one has to feel as if they need to act any different with you here. I will assign you a prospect and he will be watching you. Those are all the important points. Do you agree to everything?”

“Yes.” I can’t help myself and I thrust myself toward him wrapping my arms around his neck. Quickly pulling back and wincing from the sharp pain in my wrist. “Thank you so much. Mr. uh-President.”

He peels my arms off him and I catch a glimpse of a smile before it disappears. “Name’s Shooter. One tip for ya, most of us ain’t huggers.” He winks at me before calling for someone, “Tracie!”

A woman walks in, she must be in her twenties. Her hair is long and blonde and she is gorgeous. She has on a t-shirt with the symbol on everyone else’s jackets. “What’s up, Pres? I just got here and Twisted told me to come see you.”

“This here is Lucy. She is under club protection. I need you to get a room set up for her.” He turns away from her and starts to sort through papers on the table behind him. “Oh and Tracie? Call Doc, she needs to be seen.”

She nods and I follow her out of the door.

We walk down a long hallway and stop at the very last room. Tracie turns to me popping her gum. “This is the farthest room away from the crazy. Lookin’ at ya I figure you might need an escape. Welcome home, Mary.”

She turns to leave. “Thanks, my name is actually Lucy.” I smile at her.

“I know that, there’s some clothes in that closet. Bathroom is across the hall. Get cleaned up and dressed. I’ll call the Doc, Mary.” She winks at me and smiles before walking away and closing the door.

Why is she calling me Mary? The only Mary I know is—oh.

Virgin Mary, nice.