Rape.
Those patches show me how many ‘flowers’ he’s taken. I’m guessing he raped every single one of those virgins, as it looks like he’s collected quite a few.
“You like those flowers?” he murmurs nastily, adjusting a little so I can get a better look.
Twenty-nine.
I’m able to get to number twenty-nine before he returns to his original position. That wasn’t all of them either; that was just how fast I was able to count them. Shrugging, I pretend to be oblivious. Fake it till you make it, right? “I don’t care for them.”
Stepping closer, he places his finger in the ‘v’ where my thighs meet. “You sure?” He rubs my pussy through my shorts. “I could show you what they mean; then you could have your own. “He points to the last spot under the crimson line. “Right here.”
“I’m not really a red person, more like pink.”
He pushes against me hard enough to send an entirely new zing of sickness to my stomach. “I’ll bet you are. Did my son get a flower patch from you?”
“Huh?” I’m confused. I have no clue who the hell this guy’s son is unless he thinks I’ve met him before.
“Take off your shorts,” he orders, causing me to panic. If I take them off, I lose access to my phone.Fucking shit.
“Not happening. I’m not some bar slut that you may be used to.”
He snaps his fingers and instantly greasy hair guy along with another guy grab my arms, spreading them out. I can twist and turn, but they’re strong enough, making it so that I can’t go anywhere even if I do try to fight them.
Jekyll pulls the same long knife from his belt that Viking owns, wearing a cruel smile as he grabs my shirt, slicing up the thin tank top material. Once he has most of it cut away, he pulls the scraps off, tossing it to the floor.
I’m left in my bra, panting, my anxiety making me feel as if I’m about to have a heart attack. “You seriously need to stop; you don’t know what you’re doing!”
“That’s where you’re wrong. I’ll do whatever the fuck I want, whenever the fuck I want to. You see this patch here.” He points to the one percenter sign, and I nod, well aware of what it is. “Means, I make my own rules, and some snatch isn’t gonna tell me what the fuck to do.” He grabs my bra between my breasts; I try to wrench away, but they’re too strong. I don’t get back far enough, and when he slides the blade underneath to cut the bra, he draws my blood.
The sting to my sensitive skin is enough to have me spewing threats. “Do you have any clue who the hell my father is, you fuckwad?” I scream furiously. “He’ll kill you! You’re all fucking dead!”
Jekyll bursts out in a deep belly laugh, only pausing to send a quick punch to my stomach for my outburst. He hits me hard enough to make the air escape me, but not to break a rib. Watching me, he continues to chuckle for a moment while I gasp in discomfort.
The younger guy remains solemn, standing beside him and looking miserable like he’s being forced to watch this.
“Blaze, come shut this mouthy whore up,” Jekyll hollers at a stocky guy that has flames tattooed all over his arms.
Before he reaches me, I shout, “My father’s the President of the Oath Keepers MC you fool! Let me go!” That’s all that I can get out before Blaze is standing behind me with his huge hand, covering my mouth and muffling my shrieks of outrage.
“You think I don’t know who the fuck you are,Princess?” He says it snidely, running the tip of the blade ever so lightly against the flesh of my exposed chest. I can’t answer, just stand here helplessly and listen while my cheeks burn with anger and my gaze bristles with my newfound hatred for him.
“You’re wrong. I know everything about you, where you live, your job, how long you’ve been sucking my son’s cock, oh, and my favorite—the pictures from him fucking you right in this room on that pool table.” He gestures to the old wooden billiards table with faded green felt.
He has no right to cheapen what happened on that table between Viking and me. He didn’t just fuck me that night; Viking made me his. It wasn’t some shitty show put on for the patrons like Jekyll’s making it sound, what happened was carnal and raw. It was us.
Being a biker himself, Jekyll should know exactly what that entails. By the biker code, it means that if my Ol’ Man shows up and witnesses what they’re doing to me right now, he has every right to slaughter them without any repercussions coming to bite him in the ass. At this point, Viking could request the entire club to help him snuff out each one of the Widow Makers members in this room. Prez may be a shitty father, but he’s always been one hell of a biker, and he’d be ballistic right now beside my man over this.
A shotgun loads in the background somewhere and then the bartender starts shouting, “Let her go and get the hell out, dickhead!”
Jekyll’s head flies up with murder coating his irises toward her. He remains eerily silent, even as a shot rings out, followed by her pained scream.
Tearing up, I attempt to suppress the wetness from falling, but it’s no use. I’m too irate at this point to not start crying. I’d use my anger by punching and screaming, fighting them, but they’ve stripped it away from me along with my modesty.
That woman was only trying to help me, and they shot her for it. These sick fucks are absolutely crazy. The only piece of comfort I find, out of everything, is that I can hear her crying. I can’t stand it that she was injured because of me, but at least with her upset, I know she’s not dead.
I’d give anything to be free right now and holding that knife in Jekyll’s hand.
“Your father means nothing to me, same as you. I’ll still fuck you and kill you when I’m finished, because let’s face it, my son can’t have an Oath Keepers dirty slut as his Ol’ Lady.”