Savage Angels: A Savage MC Erotic Romance (6 page)

Probably like the truck the girls had been brought in from the Mexican border. They had been loaded in and out in pitch dark so it could be the same one for all she would ever know.
 

She saw Bogart look over a couple of the big, shining bikes, listen to them crackling as their engines were still cooling. Rocked one on its stand. He felt them, for the temperature she guessed, patted them like they were faithful horses, not just hunks of metal bolted together.
 

Bogart unlocked the cuffs and led her in through the bar doors. What lights there were behind the bar, on the stage or from the gambling machines around the walls. Red, blue or amber lights and logos flashed and flickered through the dark press of leather, denim, metal and hair.

Still shivering from the ride, Angelica had to stop a while to warm up. Bogart waited with no sign of impatience. Through the shadows and the mostly male bodies, she saw two or three girls gyrate around the stage.
 

They wore sparkly heels. That was about all. Maybe some glitter and rhinestones. They slithered and writhed in easy reach of the customers.

Sliding after Bogart through the crowd in the tiny cut-off denims with flaps of the tee hanging from her shoulders, she felt more naked than the dancers, and none of the bikers failed to notice.

When they saw who she was with, they kept their observations to themselves and they all greeted Bogart like some emperor returning from a conquest.

A cute, black-haired dancer crouched at the edge of the stage in front of a customer. Her big, round breasts pressed against him. Looking closer, Angelica saw that his cock was standing out and the girl had it wedged between her breasts.
 

She slid up and down, reaching under his balls. Some bikers were clapping time and stamped until the guy’s cock went off in the girl’s face.
 

She pulled on it and sucked on it to drain it dry, then she wiped all the cum from between her breasts and on her face into her mouth and licked her lips theatrically.
 

She showed her tongue to the crowd with a drooling hunk of spunk on it. She swallowed, licked her lips again and grinned. Her eyes shone and she shouted, “Who’s next?” and reached for the belts of the two nearest bikers.

Bogart steered Angelica to a room out back. Inside was a large empty desk with a wood swivel chair behind it, a black safe by the side, and two more chairs in front. A picture hung behind the desk of some men in another desert, in combat uniform. A tattered flag hung in a corner, and a big tapestry of the
Savage MC
colors hung on the wall opposite the desk.

Bogart offered her a chair. Wouldn’t seem like much normally, would it. “Sit. Relax.” But it was the first straightforward act of kindness that Angelica had been shown since she was taken from her family’s village two days before. Or was it three days, she couldn’t tell any more. Now was the first time that she felt truly tired, too. He poured bourbon into two shot gasses. Handed her one of them.
 

Not something she would usually drink, but these weren’t usual times. It was sinking in that usual times were fading into the past and behind her. Whatever the future would be, it wouldn’t be anything like the past.

She thanked him for the seat and for the whisky. He paused a moment, letting it hang. Like he was looking at it. Then he made an acknowledgement with a cock of his head. It seemed elegant somehow. “So,” Angelica asked him, “Is this a brothel too?”

His voice was hard and even, “Asking questions, especially questions around business is a dangerous sport in these parts.”

She wanted very much to know where ‘these parts’ were, but she figured that whatever she wanted answers for, she better find them for herself, and be very discrete about it.

There was a knock on the door. He told her, “Wait here.”
 

She said, “Hmm. Should I postpone my drive to Acapulco? Skip the flight to Rio maybe? Okay, you know what, I’ll wait here.”

He looked back at her from the door, “Help yourself to more bourbon if you want it. Seems to do you good.”

As he left she watched his tight ass roll in those leathers. After that she did take another shot of bourbon.
 

Bogart was away for some time, and as well as the noise from the bar there were sounds of boots and boxes and animated talk among the bikers. Through the door and the thin, wood walls Angelica heard talk of ‘shipment,’ ‘packaging’ and ‘cut.’ Also there was mention of a ‘city alderman,’ either in the bar or coming to the bar.

When he returned, Bogart said, “Angelica, I hope you’re going to be happy here and do well. I hope we’re both going to do well. But make no mistake, I’m not your knight on a white steed. You’ll be working here, just like you would have been with Jake.” He looked at her, hard over his shot glass. “That’s the way it is.”

She said, “There’s one thing.”

He said, “Your sister. I know we’re going to get to that. You think Jake was thrown by your, ‘Oh, I got to call her’ routine? Wondering about her test scores? It was quick thinking, woman, but you may have overplayed it.”

“Yeah, I thought about that, too. But I think he bought it. He was too busy showing off to you, Bogart.”

“I see your situation. But you cost me dear, woman. You want me to go back and bargain with Jake for another girl? Forget it.”

She looked hard into his eye, “Okay, look. I’ll do whatever you want, alright? You want me to fuck some guy for you, no problem. Sleazeball, dirtbag, don’t matter. You want me to struggle and pretend to fight back, you got it. Fists, nails, teeth, whatever. Act like I never did it before? Sure. Two guys? Three? Bring ’em on. I’ll make you money, I’ll sweeten your deals, I’ll help you do exactly whatever you want, American.”
 

She looked at him long and hard. She wanted him to see that she meant it and that she could do it. She stood and took a bite of the bourbon. What few fragments of clothes she had left were hanging in rags. Her skin glistened, she breathed hard and her eyes blazed as he looked her up and down.

He saw a woman in shape, a woman with a woman’s body and a woman’s passion. A woman with a fire in her belly. He saw a woman who meant what she said.

They looked at each other a while. Her, trying to persuade him. Him? Who ever knew what that man was thinking? Everyone around Bogart knew that whoever thinks they know what Bogart is thinking, they’re usually heading straight for an ugly surprise.
 

Angelica’s voice was low and husky. She said, “I’ll go back into the bar right now. Grab two drunks and a psycho. I’ll do all three of them in here, right in front of you. You can put it on fucking YouChoob, you hear me?”

He chuckled. That was a rarity. “Angelica, you are some kind of a woman. No, do not go back to the bar and do not drag three random scumbags in here. You’re going to work alright, but you aren’t for the scrotes. Well, not the scrotes in the bar at any rate. You’re strictly for the high-class clientele.” He lifted a shot glass, “Megascrotes only for you. Scrotocracy.”

He leaned back. Looked her up and down. Deciding something. Right then she so wanted to fuck him. Most men, that would seal the deal. This man, this Bogart? Angelica stood with her legs a little farther apart, tilted her hips towards him, put her hand in the back of her hair.
 

Looked at him under her eyebrows as she let her head fell a little forward. Bit her lip. His black leather jeans, right in the front, they were moving all on their own. Like a cat was waking up inside. Stretching itself. He stood up. Took her elbow and led her out.

He led her down a corridor to another room. Inside, it looked like the finest room in the tackiest hotel in town. Big room, huge bed, red, shiny cover, plump red and pink cushions. Brown wood wardrobe, dresser, table and drinks cabinet. Red drapes on the walls, closed to distract from the fact that there were no windows. A worn leather sofa and chairs, dark brown like the carpet.
 

He held up one of the drapes. “Big mirror.” He said, revealing a huge mirror surrounded by a very heavy and ornate gilt frame. She noticed that the mirror wasn’t hanging and tilted forward, it was absolutely on a plane with the wall.

She said, “And what’s on the other side of the mirror?”

Bogart said, “Damn, you are sharp, woman. I’m going to have to watch you.”

He opened a door to a shower room with a hand basin, a mirror and a lavatory. He said, “Take a look in the wardrobe. Pick something out.”

She opened the wardrobe and as she looked through the hanging clothes asked him, “What’s the occasion?”

He said, “First day at a new job. Look your best and be ready to celebrate.”

She picked out a long silky dress, very low in the front and back, split up the side. About as classy as the room, but in a blue that could definitely work on her. On a shelf was a pair of heels that fit her okay and could match.
 

The shoes weren’t made for long walks. There were new pairs of hold-up stockings, so she chose a dark gunmetal pair. She said, “Any makeup?” He looked at her a moment. She saw his pants stir again.
 

He said, “There probably is, but it’ll be cheap. You really don’t need to fix your face. It looks just fine.”

She thought that what he meant to say was, ‘Your face looks just like the face of a whore, and you’re going to be whoring.’ But when he said about her face, “It looks just fine,” she thought she detected a tiny crack of an emotion sneaking out under the words. He worked the muscles in his jaw and quickly looked away after he had said it.

She went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. Her face had smears of mascara and lip polish. It did look to her exactly like the face of a whore, and a tired, hard-worked whore at that. She closed the door and changed into the dress, put on the stockings and shoes. “C’mon,” he called from the room.

When she stepped out, his dark eyes widened and then narrowed. The slinky dress wasn’t exactly Parisian haute couture, but it displayed plenty of skin. Her simple silver chain with a small crucifix from her Papa and the little St Christopher she had worn since her first communion were now the only things Angelica wore that belonged to her.

The blue dress draped and flowed over her ample breasts well enough, and below the slashed back it shimmered and made something of her ass. The long slit showed her thigh as far up as the stocking top. His voice was thick as he put out a hand and said, “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Out in the bar, Bogart had Angelica walk ahead of him and he steered her through the dense crowd to a table in a set-off area in the far corner. A pudgy man in a nice grey suit was sat at the table trying to look comfortable in a dark room full of bikers. Like this was the kind of a place he usually hung out for his gin and tonic after work. He looked up and caught sight of Bogart, his eyes showed recognition. And some relief. Then he got a look at Angelica. That woke him up.

“Alderman Greaves.” Bogart said, and his hand went out to the man. The man stood and they clasped hands. Bogart clapped him on the shoulder. “I’d like you to meet Angelica.”