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“Special, huh?” Tank stands, his frame eclipsing the neon lights that buzz faintly overhead. He steps toward me, and I feel the gravity shift, the attention of the entire room pulling in our direction. “Let’s see how special.”
“Tank,” I start, my voice steady despite the tremor of fear that threatens to betray me. “I’m not—”
“Shut it, Cherry,” he snaps, cutting me off with a glare that warns me to choose my next words carefully.
“Fifty grand,” my mother interrupts, her tone all business now. “Non-negotiable.”
“Twenty,” Tank counters without missing a beat.
“Thirty,” she shoots back, a glint of greed flashing in her eyes.
“Twenty-five, and she’s mine,” Tank declares with finality, a grim smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “No backsies.”
“Deal,” my mother says too quickly, relief washing over her features as she extends her hand.
“Deal,” Tank echoes, sealing my fate with a handshake that feels as binding as any contract written in blood.
As they conclude their business, a cold dread settles in my bones. My life, such as it is, has been reduced to barter, a pawn in the games that adults play. And as Tank’s eyes lock onto mine, I know that whatever semblance of control I thought I had is nothing but an illusion.
“Welcome to the family, Cherry,” he says, a promise or a threat, I can’t tell which.
I flinch at the name, the new identity he thrusts upon me, branding me with a title I neither chose nor want. My real name, Cheree LaRoux, seems to dissolve on my tongue, a bitter pill swallowed by the chaos of the moment.
“Family?” I choke out, my voice barely rising above the din. “Is that what you call this?”
Tank’s chuckle is low and menacing, a growl from the belly of the beast. He steps closer, his leather-clad frame a towering wall of muscle and menace, casting a shadow that feels like an eclipse over my petite form.
“Cherry is fitting for you,” he says, his words wrapping around me like chains. “Sweet yet untasted. And now, mine.”
A tremor of revulsion and defiance shakes me, but where could I run? This is the world I was born into, the Defiant Men MC, a brotherhood bound by blood and darkness, a place where women are currency and freedom, a fairy tale whispered by fools.
I glare up at him, steeling myself against the fear that claws at my insides. “And if I refuse?” I ask, though I know the question is as futile as a scream in a thunderstorm.
“Refuse?” Tank’s laugh rumbles again, sending shivers down my spine. “Doll, it ain’t about what you want. It’s about survival. And you’ll do better to survive as mine than anyone else’s.”
His hand reaches out, his fingers brushing against my fiery red hair as if claiming ownership with every strand he touches. I want to recoil, to rage against the violation of his touch, but I stand frozen, knowing that any show of weakness will only cement my fate faster.
“Your mama made her choice, and now you live with it.” His gaze holds mine, an unspoken challenge lingering in the depths of his eyes. “Adapt or die, Cherry. That’s the law of our land.”
That word again, Cherry. It isn’t just a name; it is a shackle. I feel the weight of it settle onto my shoulders, sealed by my mother’s greed.
“Understand?” Tank’s voice drops to a whisper meant only for me amidst the raucous backdrop of the bar.
I nod but square my shoulders to show my defiance.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, approval lacing his tone as he turns away, leaving me standing there, a pawn in the grand scheme of the Defiant Men MC.
As he melds back into the crowd, I let out a breath. Tank has claimed me, renamed me, but he can’t strip away the ember of rebellion that still flickers within.
“Cherry,” I whisper to myself, tasting the name on my lips, a reminder of the battles ahead.
***
“Cherry, get your ass over here!” Snake’s voice cuts through the din, a sharp command I can’t ignore.
Reluctantly, I approach the group of men huddled around a table littered with empty bottles and ashtrays overflowing with the remnants of their vice.
“Pour,” he grunts, shoving a bottle of whiskey toward me.
