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Alan grabs the back of my head and forces me closer to him. His fingers dig into my scalp, and a tear slips down my stinging cheek before I can stop it.
“Fuck, I love it when you cry. Makes the blowjob so fucking good.”
I steel myself against what I’m about to do, but I’m saved momentarily by someone knocking at Alan’s door.
“Fuck off!” he yells. “I’m busy.”
“Big Dick wants you,” a voice calls from the other side of the door. “Says it's important.”
Alan roars, his face twisted in anger. “Can’t it wait five fucking minutes?”
“It’s about the prisoner. Got some new information out of him. Prez called church.”
“Fuck!” Shoving me to the floor, he tucks himself back into his jeans and throws open the door. The dark-haired prospect who tried to help me with the bucket incident stands on the other side, his fist raised as if he was about to knock again. Peering past Alan, the prospect scowls when he sees me on the floor.
“Do you have to rough her up so much?” he asks.
“She’s mine to do what I fucking want with, and you’d do well to remember that, prospect. I should kill you just for looking at her.”
The prospect takes a step back from his spot, his hands raised in surrender. Standing up to Alan will have him out of the club in a heartbeat, and he knows that. Hell, I know that. He’d lose his patch and his life if he tries to step in between Alan and me. I’m not worth the fight.
“You stay in this fucking room,” Alan barks out over his shoulder. “I’ll be back.”
He slams the door behind him and locks it, imprisoning me inside. I scramble for the door, jerking and twisting the handle to no avail. I’m trapped in here. Truly trapped.
Hours seem to tick by, but there’s no sign of Alan, or anyone else for that matter. The clubhouse is eerily quiet for this time of day. I fall asleep at some point, then the roaring engines of several motorcycles snaps me awake, only to fade away after a few minutes. Did they leave?
I sit still for a bit with my ear against the door, listening. Hearing nothing, not even the music that’s usually playing, I push up from the floor and stretch, trying to force the ache in my hips and back to dissipate.
Either they’re outside or they’re all gone… This could be my chance! I test the doorknob. It’s unlocked. Could this be a test of my loyalty? Could Alan be lying in wait on the other side of the door to see what I’ll do? I consider it, but decide against staying put. Listening to Alan was only going to get me one thing, and that was assaulted when he got back. I’d rather take my chances out there than wait for what’s coming from him in here.
With a deep breath, I turn the knob and peer out into the hallway. No one. I silently pad down the hallway. The main room is also empty. Where in the hell did everyone go? Did they really leave me here alone?
I step over to the kitchen area for a better vantage point to the cells. Still, no one. I notice that day has come and gone when I see darkness outside the big window by the kitchen. How long was I in that room? The digital clock near the back door reads two in the morning. Jesus. It’s been over fifteen hours since I went into the cells for the first time.
The kinder prospect who normally stands guard is missing. Something big must’ve happened for the entire club to roll out. When that’s happened before, they’ve locked the girls away in their rooms until they returned. So, the guys have caged the girls.
I’m really confused when I find the door to the cells ajar. Either they took off in a hurry, or the door didn’t latch properly when the last person in here left. Not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, I slip inside, careful to close the door without locking it, just as I found it. If they come back and take a quick peek, no one will be the wiser.
I head toward the occupied cell and find Priest. Peering up at me from his cot, I see the fresh blood smeared along his face.
“You came back,” he rasps, looking down at my empty hands. “Can you help me?”
“I’m sorry I didn’t bring you water like I promised. It’s a miracle I could come back at all.”
His kind eyes stare back at me. “I appreciate whatever help you can give me.” He goes on to ask, “What sort of name is Boo? I’ve been wondering that since you left. Nickname?”
I frown. “It’s the only name I’ve ever known. That’s what I remember my uncle calling me before all of this happened. No middle or last name—just Boo.
He tries to shift from his cot, but his body gives out and he falls back like a lump.
“What sort of name is Priest?” I ask, moving forward to help him.
“Nickname. My brothers thought it would be appropriate since I used to be one.”
I pause. “You were a priest? How did a priest end up in a motorcycle club?”
“Long story. Better saved for when I’m not behind bars, and you’re not being watched.” He laughs, but it sounds wrong. “I’d thank you properly for the gift you brought me earlier, but it’s a little hard to stand.”
