As promised, there had been a doctor waiting for me at the Arizona compound. He was competent for sure, quickly diagnosing my exhaustion, checking my wound where they’d removed my spleen, and topping off my medication. I couldn’t fail to note that he’d spent far too much time on my breasts when he was checking how my ribs were healing. He gave me the creeps. But I didn’t complain. Even his wandering hands were better than the cruel ones of Piero.
The first few days in Arizona, I did nothing but lie in bed, where I was waited on by who, from my conversation with Bus, I realised were club girls. Their names were Heaven and Sweetie, and as I healed, we engaged in informative conversations. They weren’t forced to be here. They’d chosen to be, and to them, the perks outweighed any disadvantages. They enjoyed sex, which was mystifying. Piero had never thought once about my needs and had enjoyed hurting me.
As they’d answered my questions, the girls had completed my education about the Kings.
Bullseye and his brothers had agreed to give me space to heal, but as days turned into weeks, I realised I would have to make some decisions about my future. Nothing had changed. I was still in the same position – no money and no qualifications. I started to embrace an idea that had been creeping up on me.
I’d been regularly raped by Piero for over ten years. What difference would it be if I gave my body to bikers? It couldn’t be worse, and would surely be better than living on the streets. Tentatively, I’d raised the subject with Bullseye, and while he wasn’t totally sure it was the right fit either for the club or me, he’d finally agreed to let me give it a try.
I quickly discovered there was no comparison between being raped by my husband and making myself available to the men in this club. For the first time, I discovered a woman was built to enjoy sex with the right man. It didn’t have to be a chore. Most often, it was a pleasure. For the first time in my life, I’d experienced orgasms.
Of course, there were times when one of them just wanted to shoot his load without caring about giving me some reciprocal action, but those weren’t the majority.
Apart from the club girls, there were no women, no wives or significant others for any of the men. But there had been a sweet ten-year-old kid, the enforcer’s son, Ace. I’d been drawn to the slightly awkward, motherless boy. It was easy to see Freak did his best by him, but most of the boy’s mothering, I discovered, was efficiently, but grudgingly, done by Freak’s mom.
When Ace spent time on the compound, it wasn’t unusual that the enforcer was called away on business, leaving the boy to fend for himself. Seeing a need, I’d stepped in, making it my mission to feed and entertain him. We became friends. Our friendship, though, was nurtured in the background. I hadno illusions of what Freak would feel if he knew his son was spending time with a whore.
I admired Freak. Out of all of them, he didn’t have to work hard to turn me on. His body, so muscular, was alluring, and just seeing how caring he was around his son, how well he coped with the kid’s autism, would have affected any hot-blooded woman’s ovaries. My biggest regret was that he’d only taken me to his bed once. I thought the night had been spectacular. I learned things I never knew my body was designed for. But while he left me humming with pleasure, I couldn’t have pleased him, as he kept his distance thereafter.
Maybe I’d shown my delight in his attentions too openly. I knew by then how these clubs worked. Once I became a whore, none of the members would look twice at me in terms of making me an old lady. They’d never get close to a club girl. Most of the guys didn’t even want to kiss, scared of anything that could be read as intimacy.
Maybe Freak had been right to worry. I did feel a pull to him, more so than any of the others. But I knew by then, there would only be pain in my future if I allowed myself to dream about him. Determined not to become a cliché, I kept my feelings about Freak buried deep. And to ensure I couldn’t be accused of manipulation, all the help I gave Ace, I made sure flew under Freak’s radar.
I’d called Irish to update him after I’d been here a couple of months, nervously admitting I’d stayed on with the Kings and was now a club girl. Prepared for him to say he hadn’t saved me to throw away my life, he’d barked a laugh, and told me, “Good on you, girl. Better being fucked by a King than being beaten by the Mafia.” Then he’d added seriously, “They’re good men. They’ll look after you.”
He was right. I realised that I hadn’t just found a place to land, I’d found a home, a new family.
Patricia, courtesy of Irish’s renaming, had become Trixie.
Unfortunately, the story didn’t end so well for the man who had helped me. Only days after my phone call, I’d heard the shocked talk around the clubhouse. Irish had been captured, tortured, and killed. I knew no other details, except that his position as VP of his club had been taken over by someone called Shotgun.
I’d felt for his wife, his unborn baby who’d never know him, and the children who’d miss him. Irish was one of the good ones. Why the fuck did they always have to go first?
I owed my life and my new existence to him.
Five years ago, I came to this club seeking sanctuary. Five years, when I thought I was satisfied and happy with what I had. And if I used the mental image of Freak to arouse me, that was my secret.
Star, a younger girl, had joined us. She’d stayed on one night after she’d come to one of the club parties. Our trio became four. Being club girls, we bonded. There was no competition. The brothers couldn’t get enough pussy. Despite the increase in our numbers, we were kept busy.
Life rolled on until Pippa arrived and Saint had made her his old lady.
Not surprisingly, Pippa didn’t generally like the club girls. Understandable, given the way they boasted about having slept with her man. But, even though I’d hooked up with Saint many times in the past, I wasn’t brazen and kept that to myself.
Maybe Pippa was the catalyst, or maybe my age was creeping up on me. I was the eldest of the club girls with my thirty-first birthday behind me.
Unexpectedly, Pippa and I hit it off, and I finally had a real female friend in the club, one who was respected and cared for. Watching her made me want more. I wanted to be seen as a woman, not just a convenient pussy with tits and a shapely ass.
But that was a pipe dream.
I’ve made my bed and must lie in it. I’m just a club girl.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
TRIXIE
Sunday starts as normal. I busy myself in the kitchen, alongside Star and Heaven, catering to the brothers’ breakfast needs. It’s always a staggered affair at weekends, with everyone relaxed and not in too much of a hurry. Sweetie eventually puts in an appearance, entering just in front of Woody, who’s fastening the button on his jeans. You didn’t need to be a genius to figure out why she was late.
Around midday, the atmosphere changed. To start with, it was just the odd whisper, a sense that something was happening. First, Bullseye appeared. Like a man on a mission, he’d approached Saint and murmured something into his ear. Then, after raising his chin toward Genie, the three of them left the room. There was almost a palpable foreboding in the air, and the men started to get up from the table, leaving their plates unfinished. They began to gather in the clubroom in groups. The air became darker, tenser, and the easy Sunday peace had disappeared into dust.
