Page 1 of Taken By Her Two Savage Bikers
Chapter 1
Wrong place. Wrong time. That’s the story of my life.
Lola
Oh you have got to be kidding me…
I groaned out my frustration as I slammed my palm against the steering wheel. My life seemed to be taking a serious downturn. The check-engine light coming on moments before I heard a bang from the aging car, followed by smoke coming from under the hood was just another thing to add to the shit show my life was becoming. I didn’t know much about cars, but a bang and smoke, followed by the car dying on the side of the road didn’t seem like something I wanted to happen.
Fuck.
I was on my way from Los Angeles to Las Vegas for a shit modeling job after having a meeting with my agent, who said to me, quote, unquote: You know I adore you and I’ve been your agent for a number of years now, which is why I feel I need to give you the brutal truth. You’re getting too old for a runway or editorial modeling career.
Looking over the massive oak desk at the spectacled, middle-aged man across from me –who more or less controlled my career, and as an extension my life – I was left feeling dumbstruck.
I’m only twenty-eight for fuck’s sake, Travis, how can I be too old? I’d replied.
Don’t get me wrong; there’s lots of work still out there for you. Stock photography for instance. Perhaps some commercial work. It’s not the end of your career. Maybe take some more acting classes...
Giving my head a shake, I couldn’t help replaying the meeting with him over and over again, like on a fucking loop. It was messing with me.
Twenty-eight and too old?
What in the hell would I do now? Modeling was the only career I ever wanted. It had been my dream throughout my entire life. I’d done the pageant circuit as a child and through my teens. Dance lessons, gymnastic lessons, acting classes. Like, shitballs, what fucking more could I have done? More acting classes? Jesus!
Looking up and into the rearview mirror, I stared into my own defeated dark brown – nearly black – eyes.
What in the hell do I do now?
Tears sprang to my eyes. Fuck fuck fuck. I couldn’t cry. If I cried I’d have big nasty black streaks down my cheeks from my heavily applied eye make-up. Besides, I had to deal with this damned car and its refusal to go any further. Time to toughen up. Taking a deep breath in, I held it for a moment and then slowly released it.
AAA. I’d call AAA and I’d be back on the road in no time. If I got towed back to L.A. then I could fly to Las Vegas. I wanted to use my vehicle, and had planned on spending several days in Vegas trying to unwind a little bit and maybe get some last-minute work, but I could always Uber or take a Lyft.
Grabbing my black leather Gucci bag, I pulled it open and began to rummage through it in search of my phone. I turned up empty.
Where in the hell?
With each moment and each item I removed from the bag, my anxiety increased. Where in the…
Then the location of the lost phone struck me like a Mack truck.
Oh shit…
My body froze as my jaw fell open. My agent’s office. I remembered it as clear as day now. I’d brought up a fashion show call for models that I’d found and wanted to participate in. I’d passed him the phone. He’d passed it back… without really looking. He’d placed it on his desk, telling me he didn’t know if that would be a good fit for my look. I’d been so agitated that I hadn’t picked the phone back up. In fact, I’d left it on his desk as I proceeded to throw an embarrassing tantrum. A diva-worthy tantrum, in fact; the stress of not working and my dream slipping through my fingers as the years went by was pushing me over the edge.
Oh no… Nonono. The phone was on his desk and I was well over an hour’s drive from L.A in a broken-down car. Frustrated, I tossed my purse onto the passenger seat and slumped back into the leather car seat.
Cars periodically drove by me as I sat in my car for way longer than I should have, wallowing in self-pity. But self-pity was not going to get me out of this mess. Not surprisingly, not a single person stopped to help.
There had been a truck stop I had passed not so far from here. Maybe a half-hour walk. Maybe…
“Yup, this is my life now,” I grumbled to myself, pulling the car keys from the ignition and snatching up my purse from the passenger seat. Several items from inside the purse had spilled out onto the seat to join the ones I’d tossed in my frantic search. I grabbed these and threw them back into the purse with more anger than was really warranted. It wasn’t the handbag’s fault that my car shit the bed. There was a hesitation in me as I tried to decide if I really wanted to make the walk, but when it came right down to it, it wasn’t as though I had a choice. It was either walk or hope some good Samaritan would stop and help. Though considering the luck I’d been having lately, it wouldn’t be a concerned citizen at all, but some perv looking to kidnap me and keep me shackled in his basement.
Opening the door, I slid from the vehicle and slammed the door shut behind me, taking my frustration out on my poor old car. Feeling a prang of guilt, I gave the roof a pat. “Sorry old girl.”
My car was a black 1976 Chevy Impala. I inherited it from my adoptive parents when they passed when I was in my late teens – sixteen to be exact. I’d just gotten my driver’s license. I remember my father being so proud, and telling me upon receiving my license that one day the Impala would be mine. I never would have imaged that the day in question would come within a month of me obtaining my driver’s license, courtesy of some asshole who robbed the convenience store that my parents happened to be in at the time of the holdup. My father, being an off-duty cop, sprang into action. Shots were fired and – to cut a long story short, because the long version is no less painful –my mother and my father were fatally shot, and died by the time they reached the hospital. They never did catch the bastard that destroyed my family. My father managed to shoot him once in the leg, but he somehow managed to escape.
Locking the car, I began my hike to the truck stop, thankful that I was wearing comfortable clothes: jean shorts and runners with a black form-fitting tank top. The day was beautiful, well at least what was left of it anyhow; warm with just a slight breeze. The sky was streaked with orange and red colors as the sun disappeared. By the time I arrived at the truck stop it would be nightfall.
