Page 18 of Dangerously Deceptive

“What's the matter? Is Shayla okay? Has something happened to her? So help me—” I cut off his threats of violence, putting him out of his misery a lot quicker than I should have.

“Relax, Shay is fine. She is still asleep. Look, I’m just ringing because today is the day. The mission is on, but I want to ask a favour, not of the Reapers, but of you. I can provide Shayla with a lot of technological support from here, and I have fully prepared and practised all the hard parts with her. The only bit we haven’t sorted is, what if shit goes wrong. We have pulled off the job successfully on numerous occasions, but we haven’t even begun to talk about what could go wrong. I need someone undercover close by to go in and extract her if things are looking bad.” I try to keep my voice as cold and emotionless as possible, not wanting Jamieson to know I am asking him this because I care about Shay. I’m supposed to be a professional, and this is supposed to be just a job.

“You didn’t even need to ask, but I am glad you did. Of course I will be there to protect her,” he replies, not even trying to hide how much he cares for her.

“But it has to be just you. No Reapers. If he sees anyone in a cut, or even someone who just looks a little bit suspicious, that will leave him spooked. My intelligence says that tonight is our one shot. Then he will leave and change up his security for the next visit. He is a paranoid asshole, and this job is going to be hard enough. Understand?” I explain, hoping he agrees. But the problem with dickhead bikers is they don’t know how to stop being part of the club, and they sure as fuck don’t do anything without telling other club members.

With a groan, Jamieson’s gravelly voice replies, “I’ve got it. No Reapers. But, and you better make sure you hear this really fucking clearly, you better look after Shayla. Make sure you do everything on your end, so you don’t need a fucking extraction option. Because we both know if we need to do an extraction, Shayla is fucked. This guy, Whitlock, he is the real deal. I can’t tell you exactly what is on the memory stick, but I can’t stress how much we need it. So much so that the Pres is willing to give his own daughter her freedom just to get it. That’s a high price to pay.”

Silence fills the air between us as we both let that sink in. I don’t think it ever occurred to me as much as it does until I hear it said aloud. Pres obviously gets a lot of pleasure and amusement over controlling his daughter, so if he is willing to give that up, it must be really fucking big.

“Oh, and there’s one more thing we only just learnt about. Whitlock likes his girls young, so make sure Shay dresses appropriately. We can send someone to help if you like?”

I almost laugh out loud at that idea. The only women he knows are Sweetbutts, and their looks hardly scream young and understated. If we were going for slutty and overdressed, then yes, we could use their help. But, I have an idea. Shayla will do just fine.

“No, thanks. I’ve got it covered. We have everything else ready to go, and the fewer people that know about the plan, the better.”

He grumbles out a confirmation, and it sounds as though he hates admitting I am right. I give him all the necessary details, telling him where Shayla will be and when. He confirms he will make sure she doesn’t get in trouble with the Reapers for missing her Friday-night plans. We are getting ready to hang up, the conversation wilting, when Jamieson turns solemn. “She will need to report back to the compound on Sunday lunchtime, whether she passed or failed. If she passes, she will be here for two weeks, and you know what happens if she fails. I need you to pass on a message to her, but only tell her right before she starts the mission, right when she needs to hear it the most. Tell her, I will always have her back. I still remember the promises I made, and I might have made the wrong decisions, but one day she will see I made them for the right reasons. Tell her she has got this, and that I have always believed in her.”

The power behind his words echoes loudly, and I literally have to bite my lip to hold back my asshole side. I want to take the piss, but I’m guessing this guy doesn’t show his emotions all that often. Besides, I’m not sure how I feel knowing this guy is clearly in love with the girl currently asleep inmybed. Do I care? I keep saying I’m not sure I want anything to happen with Shayla, so why do I keep getting those telltale flips in my stomach that scream jealousy?

Fuck! I need to put all my emotions away and deal with it after this job or we will all get killed. I already dropped the ball on this once, it isn’t happening again.

“I will do, but you may want to tell her how you really feel when all this is over.” I don’t know why I am giving him helpful advice, it just kind of slips out, and from the deep, almost sarcastic chuckle, I know he can tell I regret it.

“Didn’t expect to hear that from the guy who is currently fucking her,” he states openly, and I begin to stutter out a response but he cuts me off. “Don’t worry about it. I pushed Shayla away a long time ago. But when this job is done, no matter what the outcome is, I am throwing my hat in the ring and the gloves are coming off. I will fight for her. Until then, we are on the same side. Working to keep her safe. Make sure you do your part, or I will kill you.”

With that, he hangs up the phone, leaving me standing there with my jaw open, full of confusion. Did I even want to throw my hat in the ring and fight for Shayla, the way he does? I don’t know.

Wandering through the double doors, taking in the very naked blonde beauty that is scrunched up in my bed, I smile to myself. Let’s get today out of the way and see how I feel then. I wish I wasn’t so messed up. I wish I knew how I felt. But when you’ve never had any role models to teach you how to love, how can you possibly learn? Liam says it’s a feeling that I will know when it hits me. What if he’s wrong? What if Shayla is the girl for me, and I miss the perfect opportunity? If only feelings and emotions weren’t so dangerously deceptive.

Waking up alone in Kellan’s bed was not a good feeling. All my insecurities and worries began to resurface. Why had he left me here all alone?

I have to admit, I’m a little shocked things went as far as they did last night. On nights out, or whenever I meet guys I like, I’m always able to kiss a bit, maybe a bit of over the clothes touching, but that is as far as I’ve ever got since that awful night in Purgatory just a couple of months ago. I’ve hated myself and my body ever since.

Honey has always said I was lucky that they waited until I was eighteen before they started abusing me, or making good use out of me, as they call it. Most Sweetbutts are public property within the MC from the age of sixteen. Even my mum, Kandace, better known as Kandy, got knocked up at sixteen. That’s the life most of them choose when they come looking to hang around with bikers. But I didn’t choose it. I was born into this. Hence the name Princess. I am the Reapers’ Princess, the only child to their current rulers. But, that only gives me immunity for so long. After that they stopped seeing who I was, and all they saw was tits and an ass.

I thought when Kellan saw my scars he would freak out. They’re ugly, but there’s nothing I can do about them. That’s the thing about Purgatory, it isn’t about punishing someone, it’s about them experiencing so much pain that they pray for death. My Purgatory experiences have all been different. But I remember my worst day like it was just yesterday.

* * *

Standingin the middle of the cold, sterile-looking basement that the Reapers call Purgatory, I look around wondering where they are. I have been standing down here for around half an hour, my body beginning to physically shake. I thought it was just nerves, after all, some of the beatings I have taken in this room have been horrendous, and never anything I want to be repeated. But as I look down at the goose pimples covering my skin, I realise it’s probably because I’m fucking freezing.

When I was ordered to come down here, I was told to wear nothing except a lacy bra and thong, along with some ridiculously high stilettos that Honey had to lend me because I didn’t own any. My mind is racing, wondering why they want me dressed like this! I have had to do some dances in the bar like this, and fuck do I hate the way some of the men look at me. It’s sick. These people watched me grow up. Hell, some even helped raise me. Princess for so long was a term of affection. I really was the MC’s little Princess, theirs to protect. But now, all that has changed. I’m nothing more than a fucking piece of meat, and I hate it.

I don’t know how much longer I wait, but my body starts to ache from standing in one position with these heels on for so long. All my limbs feel as though they burn, and there’s an ache in my lower back like I’m doing weights in the gym but doing them wrong. At first, I wonder if this is the punishment, and whether they are sitting upstairs, getting pissed, and watching me spiral just waiting to see when I will break. But, we both know I’m not that lucky.

It is at least another hour, so my tired joints think—it really could have been just five minutes, it’s not like there's a clock in here—when they finally come thundering down the stairs. The general stench of booze, tobacco, and body odour seems to travel in behind them, like a pungent wave of smoke that assaults my sinuses and makes my stomach flip. “Aww look, such a good girl, waiting patiently for us,” states Joker, one of the Church members who has been with the club for life. He was raised here like me, only he’s a few years older.

When I was a kid, around eight years old, and Joker was just about to patch in at sixteen, I used to think he was so gorgeous. He was cool, sweet, and incredibly funny, hence the nickname Joker. He wasn’t anything like his dad, Breaker. Famous for breaking people’s fingers multiple times and loving the sound and feel of bones crunching. From the outset, I knew he was a sick and twisted man, so when he stepped aside from riding anymore, and Joker stepped into his Church position, I thought we were over him. But they gave him a Lifer seat in Church, and so now all he does is get pissed and participate in these torture sessions. Although, thankfully I don’t see him here, a particular spot on my left arm tingles anyway from the last time we were here together and he broke bones.

“We all knew my little Princess would do as she is told,” my dad practically coos as he walks down the stairs, at the very back.

As for the men, probably around ten of them, all of which were Church members, with the exception of the two Probies who don’t normally come down here. Arms seem to come out from all directions, as I am repeatedly grabbed and groped. Some just sweep their hands over my soft skin, allowing me to feel their rough fingertips. Others actually slide down my skin with their nails, making it feel as though razors are being lightly dragged across my skin. Then there’s the ones who go straight for my tits. They squeeze like they’re honking a horn, or massaging a stress ball, while some flick my nipple. Others grope my ass and then smack it as hard as I’ve ever felt, causing me to yelp out in pain.

I don’t know how I’ve managed to stay quiet for this long, but as soon as flesh connects with my ass cheek, I can’t help but scream out. Sadly, my screams are like music to their ears, and when I open my eyes, all I see is how much they are enjoying seeing me scream. I just don’t know how I can keep letting them do this shit to me and remain calm at the same time. Of course my instinct is to cry out, to beg them to stop, but that is what they want. They want to hear their dominance over me.

Vice President, Little Bit, steps forward, his eyes darting all over the place before settling on me. He was given his name because they think he’s a little bit crazy. Personally, if that’s the reason, they should have gone with certifiably fucking insane, as it’s a lot more accurate, but he would hate it. He hates people thinking he is crazy, but in this MC, you gotta call a spade a spade. And the reason he was given the VP role by my father is precisely because he's a ‘little bit’ insane. At least then when my father suggests stupid plans, he knows Little Bit will step forward and back him. So, as he steps forward now, I begin to worry. “Hello, Princess. How are you doing? You look like you have been here for a while,” he states with surrounding giggles at the piss-poor attempt at a joke. “We had to finish our Church discussion. We have finally voted on what to do with you. Would you like to know?” he asks me, and although my brain is catching up slowly, I’m still not exactly sure what the point in his question is.

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