heard a man being murdered, but that’s not what I think about or even see when I close my eyes. No, I think about the sexy as hell, tattooed biker who saved me and then kissed me like I had never been kissed before or after.
I shiver as I pull on my skirt. It’s black and short with a lace overlay. The top is the same, black and cropped with a lace overlay. I grab my bright turquoise high heels and slide them onto my feet before I run my fingers through my long, straight hair. I take a look at myself in the mirror and bite my bottom lip.
I look young.
Really young.
No matter how sexy I dress, how grownup I try to look, I always look like I’m just playing dress up. My round face and childish features, my big green eyes and full cheeks—I keep waiting to look older, more mature, yet I always stay girlish. My slim body and small breasts probably don’t help, either. I don’t think they’ll ever grow at this point.
“You ready, whore?” Willa asks from the entrance of my bedroom.
I look over at her. She’s wearing a skin tight, strapless, bandage dress that barely covers her vagina, and high heels that look like they should be worn on a stage, not to a party. Her black hair is curled and teased, and her makeup is dark and thick. She looks like a tramp.
“Willa, what kind of party is this?” I ask as I stare at her boobs, which are barely contained in her dress.
“A fun one,” she grins wickedly before she grabs my hand and drags me out of my apartment.
I sit in the passenger seat of her car, my nerves completely taking over my thoughts. Willa talks non-stop about this guy she’s met and how he hangs out with this awesome group of guys that are known for the best parties . His name is Robbie, and she claims he’s hot and perfect. I have my suspicions; Willa is a terrible judge of character when it comes to men.
“Here we are,” she squeals. I look up in horror. My heart starts to pick up its pace at the sight of the building in front of us.
I’ve been here before.
My brother dragged me out of here as fast as he could.
The Notorious Devils Clubhouse.
I didn’t know who they were. Not until my brother, Andy, schooled me on just how dangerous they are. A motorcycle club, a gang. And now, here I am again.
“Hattie?” Willa asks, looking over to me.
“Do you know where we are?” I breathe.
“Yeah, Notorious Devils . Robbie hangs out with them sometimes, always comes to their parties. I hear they’re legendary,” she smirks as she applies more bright red lipstick.
“Why didn’t you tell me we were coming here ?” I ask as my cheeks heat with anger.
“Because you’re a scaredy cat. You wouldn’t have come.”
“Damn right, I wouldn’t have,” I grumble.
“Ooohhhh, you must really be mad—you said damn ,” she laughs as she slides out of the car.
I follow her, only because I don’t want to be in the car by myself, but I’m terrified. I look around the parking lot and notice motorcycles everywhere. There are also a few pickups and cars, but not many. I grab her hand and pull her to a stop. I wait until she turns around and levels me with a glare.
“What? I’m not driving you back home,” she practically growls.
“No, just, don’t lose me. Please,” I beg.
Willa throws her head back with a laugh and then squeezes my hand with hers.
“You’ll be fine. Put your big girl panties on and deal, Hattie. You’re so fucking sheltered, it’s ridiculous. You know I would blame your parents, but Andy is just as bad. Maybe you’ll see something you like here. I’ve heard these guys are wild.”
Without another word, she begins walking toward the front door. She isn’t wrong. I am sheltered. My parents are ultra-conservative and Andy is a police officer. I’m just little Hattie, baby sister and youngest child, meant to be a good girl and kept pure until the day I find a nice boy and settle down. Little do they know that my purity left the building when I was seventeen.
My
Michelle Pace, Andrea Randall