Page 39 of Their Princess

What the hell was happening? I could feel the thump in my bones they had it so loud.

What the fuck were they doing?

Did the MC clubhouse turn into an actual nightclub when the sun went down?

I walked over to the door and jiggled the handle again. Still locked.

“Fuck!” I pounded on the door, but of course, no one heard me.

Grabbing my cell phone, I called Rafe. I would never be able to fall asleep, and I was hungry. They couldn’t just leave me in here! But my cell only rang until I got Rafe’s voicemail.

I held it away from my ear and yelled, “Where are you?” into my phone, his voicemail catching my words. “What ishappening? Get me the fuck out of here!” Then I hung up and threw my cell phone on my bed.

The music kept pumping, but I realized that it wasn’t coming from inside the warehouse. In the bathroom, I hopped up onto the seat in the shower and peeked out the window. The bikers were gathering behind the warehouse, where there was a yard. No, a nice patio. Like something at a microbrewery or trendy restaurant.

Orange light flickered in a darkening twilight outside. The MC had lit a massive bonfire going that looked like it could’ve burned LA to the ground. The air here was too dry for a fire like that. A little fuel, and it would torch the city.

Good thing there wasn’t much here except concrete and metal.

Where had they gotten the firewood, anyway?

Not the point, Adelina, I thought to myself. The point was that I was stuck inside of me while everyone else was outside, MC and their women and whoever else, partying.

I had to get out.

No more of this princess in a tower bullshit. Damsel life was not my goddamn cup of tea, and I planned to show my future husband that I wasn’t about to be some meek little woman he could lock away. I jimmied open the small window over the shower, and braced myself on the wall, climbing out of my locked bedroom.

Score one for Adelina!

Landing was the worst part, but I managed not to break my neck. Or dirty my dress.

Pretty impressive.

My heels didn’t break either.

Smoothing down my dress, I flipped my hair over my shoulder and then walked into the backyard. Black smoke billowed into the sky and turned the yard into a haze, minglingwith the normal LA smog. The bikers didn’t even glance at me, but so many women were around: hanging off guys, mingling, mixing drinks. With my short skirt that barely covered my ass, I almost blended in too well.

A biker stumbled a few steps back from the fire, a woman crawling after him. His erect cock stood at attention, and she wrapped her lips around it.

What the actual fuck?

I truly had landed in a redneck version of the Playboy Mansion?

Who the hell whipped out his dick with everyone around?

But as my eyes drifted around the crowd, I realized he wasn’t the only one. Guys around the fire were either being sucked off or fucking one of the many girls they had.

Vegas had a reputation, but this wasn’t like the home I knew. I had peeked into some parties along the strip, and even at those, people at least were more discreet about it, ducking into a dark booth or heading up to their rooms before actually fucking.

I scanned my surroundings, looking for anywhere that wasn’t whore infested. They were like a plague, and I wondered what happened to them to give them such low self-esteem. If the cartel saw them now, they would fuck the MC in their collective ass.

The guy doing the music was alone, and I started in that direction, careful to keep the heels of my shoes from sinking between the cracks. I needed to talk to this guy about his music taste and why it was so fucking loud, but as I neared him, I recognized him.

He was the one who had helped me earlier when I tripped. He was kind... or as kind as one of these depraved bikers could be. What felt the most familiar about him were his tattoos. Not a singular one because every inch of skin I could see on him was covered, a used canvas.

Did he have any left to paint?

“Graff?” I asked.

---