Prologue
May (23 months to Mancuso’s downfall)
Nic
EVERYTHING IS FUCKED up. The room tilts slightly—or maybe it’s me—and the edges of everything around me is fuzzy. Maybe I drank too much this time. No, scratch that, I know I drank too much this time. Being here, with him, should be my first clue that I fucked up and went too far. I promised myself I wouldn’t do this, not with him. This is what happens when I drink too much. I make poor decisions. This time my poor decision has an all-too-familiar name: Duke.
He’s been trying to fuck me for years and I’ve always lied through my teeth and let him think that I wasn’t interested. If he knew about the stupid crush I’ve been harboring for him after all these years, I wouldn’t have been able to keep him off of me for this long. He’s persistent, I’ll give him that.
It doesn’t matter what-- or who-- he’s doing. Every night we’re both here, we hang out for a while. Usually, it’s me sitting in silence drinking my beer, and it’s Duke telling me I should suck his dick-- to which I decline. But he’s here and it’s a routine I’ve come to appreciate. It’s not much, but it’s something. And until now, it’s always been enough.
Maybe just for one night I want to let myself indulge in the fantasy.
He holds my hand in his, atop his bent knee. I’m leaning into him, an arm on the top of the bar to hold myself upright, my ass is scooted to the edge of the barstool. Duke’s blue eyes are bloodshot and hazy. Small lines appear on the sides from the smile on his face. I try to smile back, but I probably look like a stroke victim. Everything keeps tilting. It’s really not fair because it makes it harder to really see him. He’s all thick neck and goatee and short blond hair and sex. And I’ve seen him make other Lost Girls come. They scream their brains out as he fucks them hard. And tonight it’s my turn. Tonight, it’s like Christmas and I’m about to get a present that is going to make it hard to walk for the next two days.
I try to focus on the beer bottle as he brings it to his lips. I can’t quite read the label on the side. It’s less than a foot away, but everything I look at seems backwards, but not backwards at the same time. Damn, I’m fucked up. He tips his head back, and gulps down what’s left in the bottle. Sitting the empty on the bar, Duke licks the beer off his lips. It’s almost like he’s teasing me with every part of his body I’ve fantasized about for so long, but have never given myself the right to have. I don’t realize I’m biting my lip until it hurts. He smirks and pulls my lip away from my teeth.
We’ve never been here before. This close. It’s unnerving.
“You’ve been a hard one to catch,” he says. I purse my lips and smile at him. Duke has always been the kind of guy that people are just naturally drawn to. Ever since the first time I saw him freshman year of high school, I’ve had a thing for him. But Duke likes to fuck around and play mind games and that’s a surefire way to get my heart broken. So, no thank you.
But right now he’s all muscles and goatee and smooth talking, and I’m all drunk and relaxed, and up for anything. So, yes please.
“Let’s go,” he says, standing from his position on the stool. He gives my hand a slight tug, encouraging me to move. I’m not sure it’s such a good idea. I list myself off the seat and move to step down, but somehow lose my footing and slip toward the floor. A strong arm catches me on my way down, pulling me against a mass of warmth wrapped in leather and jeans.
Holding me up, Duke leads us through the main room of the Forsaken Motorcycle Club’s clubhouse, and down a long hallway with doors on both sides. At the very end of the hall are the double doors to the chapel. I’ve never been in there. If there’s anything sacred to an outlaw motorcycle club, it’s the chapel. On the left side is the palace, which I admit with no great amount of pride, that I’ve danced half naked in a time or two. The other doors lead to bedrooms which serve as crash pads for club members, and I know exactly which rooms belongs to which brother. All Lost Girls know that.
We stop at the third door on the right which Duke was gifted when he earned his officer patch as SECRETARY. He reaches out, twists the handle and lets the door swing open. The room is dimly lit and reeks of body odor, which is not uncommon. With his hand on my lower back, he encourages me into the room with a gentle push. I blow out a deep breath and walk in, shrugging off my reservations.