Authors: Abby Weeks
Tags: #Literary, #Contemporary, #Fiction, #Romance, #Suspense, #Erotica, #Womens
Tangled Rose
Tangled Rose
Abby Weeks
Copyright © 2014 Abby Weeks
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ISBN 978‐1‐927947‐26‐5
The following story is based partially on events from my life. However, none of the characters are intended to represent actual people and the story is not told with any trace of malice or ill will. I believe that the purpose of stories is to bring people closer together and to help us deal with the events of our lives. I know some of what follows may be difficult for some readers and I ask simply that you stick with the story to the end. There is a lot of light, life and love in this story, as there is in my heart. Thank you for reading.
Contents
*
“ALL ART IS EROTIC.”
Gustav Klimt,
1862‐1918
*
“EVERYTHING IN THE WORLD IS ABOUT SEX EXCEPT SEX. SEX IS ABOUT POWER.”
Oscar Wilde,
1854‐1900
*
I
R
OSE MEADOWS LAY ON THE
narrow bed of the motel room and stared at the ceiling. A wooden fan on the roof slowly rotated and her eyes followed the blades in their endless circular movement. The room was small and dimly lit. A pair of thin cotton curtains covered the window but she could tell it was daylight outside.
She was a prisoner.
She didn’t know how long she’d been lying on the bed, two days, maybe three. She’d been unconscious. They’d drugged her. Now she was awake. She was thirsty. Her throat was so dry she wasn’t sure she’d be able to speak if she tried.
She tried to move her arms but she couldn’t. Her wrists were fastened to the posts of the bed with leather cords. Her ankles were too. She’d spent the first night struggling against them but it only made it worse. The harder she struggled, the tighter they got. Eventually, they’d torn into her flesh and left deep sores in her skin. She was startled at how quickly she’d lost her will to struggle against them. Maybe it had been the drug they’d given her, maybe the pain of the cords cutting into her flesh, but she stopped pulling against them and now she just lay there.
She was lying, spread-eagled, facing the ceiling. She was in as vulnerable and exposed a position as it was possible for a woman to be. She was wearing her full-body, leather racing suit. She was glad of that. It offered her some protection from the eyes of the men who sporadically entered the room and looked at her as if she was some strange animal they’d captured.
She looked at the window. She had no idea where she was. It was a motel room of some kind. The bed was simple. There was a wooden chair at a desk and two side tables with lamps. There was an upholstered armchair in the corner close to the bed. The walls looked yellowish, like they’d been stained by years of tobacco smoke. There was a door leading to a bathroom and Rose wished she was free to get up and use it. If they left her tied up much longer she’d soil herself.
For all she knew, that was precisely what they wanted.
She was their prisoner.
She’d allowed herself to fall into the hands of the Dark Rebel Motorcycle Club, the DRMC, one of the most brutal and notorious MCs in all of Quebec.
*
H
OW HAD SHE BEEN SO STUPID?
How had she allowed this to happen?
Just a few days ago she’d been free, living her life in Montreal. She was a waitress. She had her own apartment. She was enrolled to study fashion in one of the city’s colleges in the fall. She belonged back there, not here in this remote, desolate place at the very edge of civilization.
Her life in the city hadn’t always been easy, she was often alone, she had no family and few friends. She struggled to pay her bills. But at least it had been her life and she’d been proud of it. Now it was gone. Just like that, everything had been taken from her.
The town she was in, Val-d’Or, was hundreds of miles north of the nearest city. It was a thousand miles from Montreal. She’d made the ride up herself. And it had all happened because of one man, one foul, evil man.
Rex Savage
. The name revolved around in her mind like the fan blades on the ceiling. He was the reason she was here. He was the one who’d betrayed her. She’d been so stupid to trust him, so naive, and now she was paying the price.
She thought she could trust him because he’d ridden with her father. They’d both been members of the Sioux Rangers. She’d been wrong.
Her father died ten years ago and she missed him terribly. Not a day went by that she didn’t think about him. When his old friend, Rex Savage, walked into the restaurant she worked at she would have believed anything he told her.
And this was where it had gotten her.
*
“Y
OU OKAY IN HERE?”
It was her guard, Patrice. She’d heard some of the others use his name. He opened the door and looked in.
“I’m okay,” she said.
He looked at her on the bed, spread out before his eyes like a slave waiting to be sacrificed.
“Let me loosen these cords a little.”
She looked away from him. She didn’t want to make eye-contact. He seemed like a nice guy, he seemed kind, but he was a member of the DRMC and she knew what that meant. Looks could be deceiving. She couldn’t trust anyone. After what had happened to her she knew anything was possible. She couldn’t trust these men. That was the one thing she had to remember.
*
T
HAT FIRST NIGHT, AFTER THEY’D
drugged her and taken her to the motel, something had happened. It was something that would live with her like a scar for the rest of her life. It wasn’t supposed to happen. She knew that. She’d heard what the chapter president had said. After they’d taken her to the motel room and tied her to the bed, he’d told one of the club members, an obese bartender called Fat Boy, to guard the motel room. He wasn’t supposed to touch her. It was the chapter president’s right to have the first taste of any new girl they captured. But that night, that awful night, Fat Boy had slipped into her room and showed her how the DRMC liked to treat new meat. He’d unzipped her bodysuit, pulled it down, and had a taste of what she had to offer.
Rose said nothing. She didn’t make a sound. She let it happen. There was no way she could resist. She’d been tied to the bed. And she’d held in her tears until Fat Boy was finished and had left the room.
Once he’d left, silently she’d let the tears run down her cheeks. The salt of the tears burned her skin. Nothing like that had ever happened in her life. It was the first time she’d ever been raped. But something told her it wouldn’t be the last.
II
S
HE PLAYED THE MEMORY OVER
and over in her mind like a videotape of some horror movie. She couldn’t stop it. She tried to but couldn’t. The feel of Fat Boy’s fingers on her skin, the scent of his breath on her face, it was like a nightmare. She lay there, tied to the bed, and tried desperately to tell herself that it hadn’t happened, that it was just her imagination, but she knew the truth. Fat Boy had raped her.
She looked around the room, the old television set on the dresser, the stained lampshades on the side tables, the incessantly rotating fan, and tried to get it out of her head. She’d gone over it so many times already. Reliving it in her mind only prolonged the pain.
The thing that stood out in her mind was the creaking of the floorboards. The motel room was on the second floor. The building was cheap and poorly built. When the chapter president and the other men rode out of the parking lot and Fat Boy turned his attentions to Rose, the first thing she’d heard was the floorboards creaking under his enormous weight. They hadn’t been designed for a man of Fat Boy’s size. He was enormous. He opened the door as quietly as he could but the floor groaned like it was going to give way. That was what had woken her from her stupor. She didn’t know what drug they’d given her but whatever it was, it wasn’t strong enough.
He walked into the dark room. He didn’t turn on the light. She heard him and assumed he was just checking on her. He was the guard, and she’d heard with her own ears the chapter president telling him not to touch her. Never in a million years could she have imagined what he had in mind.
She was still in shock from being captured. It had happened so suddenly, so unexpectedly. She lay there and waited for him to turn on the light, but the light never came on. He just stood there, breathing heavily in the dark. She could hear the sound of the air leaving his lungs, getting sucked back in. He breathed like a large animal. She couldn’t see him but instinctively she knew he was a large man. The floorboards, the breathing, the displaced air in the room, all of it told her that he was a monster.
She started struggling desperately against the cords that bound her to the bed. She knew she was in trouble, that something terrible was going to happen to her. The sound of that breathing, the unseen man standing there over her in the dark like a fiend, it terrified her. She pulled her arms and legs against the cords with all her might but it did no good. The harder she struggled, the more painful they got. They rubbed against her skin, they cut into her flesh, and still she struggled.
And the man, Fat Boy, he just stood above her and watched her squirm like a frightened animal in a trap.
“You aint going anywhere, my little lovely.”
She wanted to scream but no sound came out. The terror was too much. All she could do was lie there, squirming against the cords and imagining the awful things that he was going to do to her.
“Quit your struggling, little lady.”
Fat Boy’s voice sounded muffled, like he was speaking from far away.
She did quit her struggling but not because he’d told her too. She’d given up. They were too tight and too painful. She lay still.
“That’s better,” he said.
She held her breath. He was standing next to her, next to the bed. She didn’t want to breathe. She didn’t want to smell him. When he leaned down over her and reached out she froze. She didn’t move a single muscle.