They clinked their glasses together and tossed the rough liquor back. When more women came forward and started rubbing their shit all over members, jerking the guys off and getting them ready to fuck this was his cue to get the fuck out of here. He clapped Tuck on the shoulder and got out of the couch. Kink was now getting his own private lap dance, but it was more of a “cop a feel” with his fingers up her twat.
Malice was too drunk to drive to his place, so he made his way toward the back of the clubhouse and found a room that wasn’t otherwise occupied with people fucking. Shutting the door behind him, he took his cut and shirt off. He sat on the edge of the bed and took his boots off, but didn’t bother taking his jeans off. The light was still off, and he lay back on the bed, put his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. The shadows from outside moved across it, but for as exhausted and drunk as he was he couldn’t fall asleep. The run tomorrow would take him, Kink, and Ruin to Utah to look over some girls that were with another Brothers charter. Normally they didn’t swap females around like this, but the Fairview charter was getting heat from the local PD and many of the churches around the small town that were trying to drive them out. A Brothers of Menace club didn’t let anyone screw with them, but they also tried to keep the peace, and distancing themselves from the moral police that had swarmed in when the local police had raided their clubhouse and found out they were selling pussy, hadn’t gone well for them. So, The River Run charter was taken some of the girls for the time being, and helping out their fellow brothers until shit died down.
Since The Brothers had gotten involved in selling pussy full-time, and staying out of drugs, things were going well. Although they didn’t make nearly as much as they had dealing coke, having that kind of heat on the club was bound to get them in trouble. Selling women wasn’t legal either, but the authorities were more interested—at this point in time at least—in bigger shit like guns and drugs. They may not deal guns, but that didn’t mean they still didn’t need weapons to protect the club and the girls that worked for them. It was necessary to have them, and the violence that was associated with their MC, and any of them that they were associated with for that matter, meant they had to do some pretty deplorable shit at times. But Malice couldn’t deny that for as bad a rap as The Brothers got in River Run, they did good shit, too. Taking on those beaten and battered prostitutes all those months back and building them a safe haven to recover in was one of the more goodhearted things they had done. They might not do good shit like that all the time, but they weren’t always bastards.
The sound of a Harley pulling into the lot had the glare from the lone headlight slashing across the ceiling. He might not have to leave until tomorrow night to pick up the females, but it was already going on three in the morning. Selling flesh was probably pretty fucking low to some people, but what those people didn’t understand was that if the women decided to work for them they got protection, safety, and were well cared for. They were not just pussy for sale to the Brothers, but women that had decided on this path for themselves, and had gone into business with the MC. Was prostitution decent work? Maybe money-wise, but it certainly wasn’t honorable. He didn’t judge what someone else chose to do, though, especially when his own life was filled with plenty of dishonorable things. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let the wave of alcohol that thrummed through his veins take him under so he didn’t have to think about any of the shit around him.
He scrubbed his hand over his face and breathed out.
****
Adrianna looked over at Phillip as he cut another line of blow on the small mirror in front of him. She was sitting on the floor in the corner, pressed as hard against the wall as she could stand because even thinking of being close to him had bile rising in her throat. Dried blood covered her nose and the side of her mouth from when Phillip had backhanded her because she hadn’t brought him his dinner fast enough. She watched as he leaned forward, closed one nostril with his finger, and placed the end of a rolled up dollar bill in the other nostril. He inhaled deeply, and promptly leaned back on the couch and closed his eyes. A few of his junkie friends were already passed out, one on the floor and the other on the chair by the couch. One still had the damn tourniquet wrapped around his bicep from when he had shot up heroin earlier, and the most likely filthy needle hanging from the crook of his arm.
For several months she had subjected herself to this life, but it hadn’t always been this nightmare that she feared she’d never wake up from. The first month with Phillip had been great. He had been one of those guys that could captivate a person with a look alone. That was exactly what he had done with her. He had pulled her in, made her trust him, care for him, and then he had slowly started to show himself in small increments. He was a master manipulator, that was so vividly clear, and she hated herself that she had allowed herself to once again be taken advantage of.