Page 10 of The Gentleness of Rage

“Check the doors, see if she has passed one of our guys,” Drake ordered Jett.

Jett returned within minutes. “Nobody’s left. Jaelynn must be here somewhere.”

“Not if she used the secret entrance,” a woman said.

Drake looked at the waitresses standing with the dancers. “Which of you phoned me?”

“I did. Rage MC is rumoured to stop shit like this. Tonight was bad. Royce was high and allowing women to be dragged off stage and raped. When he took Jaelynn, I had to do something,” she explained.

“What’s your name?” Drake demanded.

“Cayla. I’m head waitress. I have tried to protect the girls, but I’ve failed. The cops had several anonymous calls and did nothing. The police have a dirty cop covering shit up somewhere. You were my last hope,” she said.

“Where does Jaelynn live?” Slate asked. Cayla stared at him and pursed her lips. “Jaelynn was raped, I need to get her to the hospital, do you understand?”

“You were too late. Jaelynn keeps to herself. She could do better than this, but she’s running from something. Several times, I told her to leave here, but she said she needed a cash-in-hand job,” Cayla replied.

“She does?” Drake asked as Slate lost his patience.

“What fuckin’ secret door?” he demanded.

“There’s one hidden in the dancer’s room. It is usually covered over with a screen, and it’s padlocked and never been used, but that’s the only way Jaelynn could get out unnoticed,” Cayla answered.

Slate spun on his heel and headed to the dancer’s quarters. There he found the door that Cayla had mentioned and discovered it opened.

“Fuck!” he roared and whipped his phone out. He needed Jaelynn’s address now.

“Slate,” Davies said. “I was going to call you in the morning. I had to stop the dive on Jaelynn, her name triggered an alert.”

“Did you at least get her address for here?”

“Yes. I’ll text it to you. We’re hearing rumours you’re raiding Jingle Jangles. Call me about this alert when you get time.”

“Thanks, Davies,” Slate said and ended the call.

Jaelynn

I raced up the stairs to my piece of shit apartment and let myself in. I locked the door behind me and headed for the bathroom, stripping as I did so.

In the morning, I’d burn that clothing, I would never wear it again. I stepped into the tiny cubicle of a shower and turned it on to scalding, which meant lukewarm with the shitty boiler that serviced it.

Tears streamed down my face as I began scrubbing my body vigorously.

I scoured my skin until it stung and was red raw. And even then, I could not stop. I washed my hair at least five times and lost count of how many times I washed my pussy. Sobs left me, making me shake as I kept washing.

I couldn’t breathe.

No matter how much shower gel I used, I still felt dirty. I couldn’t stand it and screamed.

Fear bubbled over as someone turned the water off and wrapped a towel around me. I opened my mouth to scream, and only whimpers came out.

“Baby, it’s Slate. Slate, honey. I’m not going to hurt you, I’ve brought you a doctor,” he said, holding me tightly in his arms.

Slate? From the bar.

“Jaelynn. My name is Lynda. I own my own clinic, and I’m a surgeon. But I can help you. Will you let me?” a gentle voice asked.

“How… how… did… I locked the door,” I cried.

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