Page 3 of Sexy Beginnings
Chapter Two
Jordan
As we walk into the warehouse, something feels off. I put my hand out stopping Twisted from walking any further.
“What are you doing, Prospect?”
Prospect.
That’s my only identity right now. It is not easy to become a full-fledged brother in the Deathstalkers MC. Most prospects have a year wait until the club decides they have proven their loyalty. Being a prospect is basically another term for bitch boy. You are at the club’s beck and call. Whenever they say jump you don’t even ask how high you just go for it.
“Something’s off.” I look around and that’s when I see it. Blood. Not a lot of it but enough to tell me that whoever was in here had multiple wounds. I nod to the trails on the floor and Twisted reaches for his phone.
“Pres, someone’s been here, or is still here. There’s blood on the floor. Prospect and I will check it out and I’ll let you know.” He pauses for a minute before sliding the phone back into the pocket of his jeans. “Get your gun out and keep your eyes open.”
I nod to him. If whoever broke in is still here, they are idiots. It is well known that this warehouse belongs to the club, which basically marks it as off limits. That’s when I see it. A small scrap of white fabric peeking out from under a crate.
I tap Twisted on the shoulder pointing him in the direction and we slowly move toward the crate. He signals to me that he is going to lift it up. His fingers count to three, and when the crate disappears, I’m stunned at what’s under it.
It’s a girl.
She looks really young and is cowering in the corner her head tucked between her knees. She begins to whimper and her body shakes with the tears I have no doubt are pouring from her eyes.
“Who the fuck are you and what the fuck are you doing here?” Twisted’s voice booms and I see her shake from the force. I squat down to her level. “When she swipes a blade out and slits your throat you’re gonna be sorry, Prospect.”
I know what he is saying makes sense. I don’t know who this girl is or if she was sent by someone. Except my gut is telling me that she came here looking for help, not trouble. I slip my gun back into my waistband. “Hey.” I tap her arm and she recoils closer to the wall. “Chill out. I’m not gonna hurt ya.”
Her head raises an inch and I am looking at the most gorgeous damn eyes I’ve ever seen. They are as blue as those oceans you see on commercials for exotic resorts. As beautiful as they are, they are full of an immense amount of pain and fear, not only that but they’re red-rimmed from crying. Her arms are covered in scratches, and I can see blood trailing down her legs.
I clear my throat trying to soften my voice and ease her nerves. “Listen, you gotta start talking. If you don’t he is just gonna yell and kick you out on your ass. Why are you here?”
“I . . . I need h-help.” Her voice is barely above a whisper.
“Do you want us to drop you off at the police station? Or call them? We sure as shit can’t bring ‘em here but we can take you somewhere to meet ‘em.” Calling the cops at any point is off the table. However, I can tell by her appearance that she needs some kind of help.
Her head lifts all the way. “No, please!” She tries to yell but her voice cracks halfway through. “You can’t. They know the cops. They’ll make me go back. They’ll kill me!” I look up at Twisted as if asking him what to do. “You guys are the bikers right? C-can you help me?”
“Help you how? How old are you?” People tend to run from us not to us. So to have her lookin’ at me like I’m her guardian angel is more than a little outta place.
Her teeth bite down on her bottom lip. “Fourteen.”
“Fuck this shit,” Twisted shouts startling her again. “She’s a fucking minor. She needs to go.”
“Please! I need help. I don’t have anyone.” Her eyes plead with me and that’s when I take in the state of the rest of her body. She is wearing a dirty long sleeved white dress. There is a bruise under her left eye, blood dripping from the multiple cuts on her legs, and she is cradling her wrist as if there is something wrong with it. I stand up and walk over to Twisted.
“This shit has trouble written all over it. We need to kick her the fuck out of here.” His voice is hard and his face unaffected as he looks over at her. He has been a brother for years and I know he is probably right.
As I glance back in her direction I can’t help but feel some sort of pull to help her. I shake my head. “We can’t just do that. It ain’t right.”
“Fine! You want to stick your neck out for her underage ass then you talk to the Pres about it!” Twisted takes his phone, says a short greeting then passes it to me.
“What the fuck is going on there?” Shooter, our President, yells in my ear. He has been president of the MC for five years, and is not used to waiting for anything, especially information.
“We got a girl here. She looks beaten up, and is askin’ for help. Claimin’ she can’t go to the cops, ‘cause they’ll bring her back to wherever she ran from.” I hold my breath waiting for his reply. I would hate to dump this girl somewhere but if he gives the order, I don’t have a damn choice.
“What are you not fucking telling me?” Everyone has always said that the Pres is like a damn lie detector, he’s good even over the phone.
“She’s fourteen.”
