Page 16 of Motorycle Daddies

Everything is wobbly as I’m reminded of how I’m supposed to walk and told what the stage looks like. Before I know it, I’m stepping up and out from behind the curtain. Lights blind me for a moment as I try to keep my balance and do everything I was told to.

As much as I don’t want to be sold to anyone and lose my virginity to a stranger—to whichever old skeeze is willing to buy it—I don’t want to know about what happens if I don’t make enough money to clear my father’s debt. I get the feeling that the next step in the plotline involves the end of both my life and his.

My vision has cleared when I get to the end of the runway, and I look around to try to catch the eyes of someone who might take pity on me. Someone who might at least be gentle with me, or give me freedom at some point in my life.

Instead, I spot a familiar face. It takes me a moment to realize it’s him. It’s his face that I know, but he’s bald now. He must’ve shaved his head recently. But it’s definitely Dart.

I try to stare him down as if to give him a message. I hope like hell he can tell it’s me. I don’t look like myself at all, I’m sure. I don’t know if he’s here specifically because they know I’m here, or just to check out what’s going on with the Bratva considering the motorcycle club is basically at war with them.

I don’t really care, as long as he finds a way to get me out of this. It’s their job, right? They protect people. And if Dart is here, then maybe Harlow’s father is too.

I have to have hope. I have to hope that it’s going to be okay.

“Let the bidding begin. Starting with one thousand.” The announcer lets everyone know that I’m up for sale—that one of the most intimate parts of me is for sale, specifically.

And now, I wait.

8

GRIZZLY

Iorder my second bourbon, telling myself that I’m just going to sip on this next one while I pretend to be interested in the girls as they come out. Hopefully, my memory holds out and I can remember as many of the girls as possible.

Whether it be code names, or numbers that they’re given, or just remembering faces. Anything we can use against them later. I so fucking hate playing nice here, but it’s the only way.

A series of hosts dressed in fine suits come up to the tables, placing a large green card in front of each of us. If I flip it over, there’s also a red side.

The host begins to explain to us what it’s all about. “This is how you bid.” He raises the card up just like you would a paddle. “On the inside of each of these is a card with your number. That number is used to track you as a client, so don’t go losing it or switching with someone else. Once you bid on a girl, you can go to that table.”

He points to the far side of the room in a dark corner. I can barely make out a table, let alone any of the few people sitting at it. Most everything is in shadow, because the lights are turned off in that direction.

“And they will stamp your card with the serial number of the girls you have bought. Everyone gets to claim their product when the entire show is over. Do you have any questions?”

I glance at Trap, who’s doing a very good job of holding in whatever the hell he wants to say. Of course we have questions, but we can’t ask any of them, not like this.

“Thank you. No, we don’t.” I try to keep my tone light, but I never have been good at that. Especially since…well, I don’t even like to think about it. My losses have been too much.

I’m sure they’ll just write me off as the asshole running an MC.

As the host walks away, Dart looks at me with a weird grin across his face. “This sure is some joint, isn’t it, Prez?”

I give him a pointed look and cross my arms. “That’s one way to put it. It’s certainly something. And marketed as a VIP lounge for the elite guests of this club…it’s just a matter of time.” I don’t finish the thought. The runway in the center of the room begins to light up as the other lights around us dim.

“Dart, I need you to go around and see what you can drum up from some of the other customers. Especially when they get a little loose with more alcohol. Be friendly,” I add, giving direct orders. Then I turn toward Trap. “I need you to get more of the insider information. Act interested in all of this. Like you’re doing my dirty work. Schmooze it up with any member of the route that you can find. Remember names. Be ready to set the trap when it’s time.”

Trap nods and walks off, though I can see the frustration in his stride. Hopefully he’ll go straight to the bar and get himself something else to drink to help him loosen up a bit. Otherwise, they’ll see right through him.

But I have to trust him. He’s my man on this for a reason.

They announce a number, and the first girl walks on stage. I hold my bourbon in my hand and stand up, looking her up and down. Or at least making it appear that’s what I’m doing. Of course, I’m not going to get too close. Most of these girls are underage or damn close to it. I don’t want to imagine my precious daughter being a part of something like this.

By the third girl, I realize I need to be bidding. Even if it’s lowballing and giving in to someone else. We’re supposed to be here to get another club whore. That’s the story we told. If I’m not interested, then it’s not going to be very believable.

A blonde woman comes out next. She reminds me of someone in a pageant. She waves like she’s Miss America or something. Blood-red lips, lots of curves, and very tall. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she wants to be here. I can tell by looking around me that a lot of the men in here are interested in her. I take a sip of my bourbon and then raise my green card. The screen at the top of the stage announces my bid.

They can’t really go saying women’s names out loud or make anyone think there’s an actual auctioneer down here.

I’m pretty sure there’s also a shit ton of security here. Even the type I can’t point out. Men. Women. Who the hell knows how many? I hope Dart’s being careful and not running into any of them.

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