She still remembered that night when the Wolverine MC had invaded their house, and could still see the darkness that had surrounded Trick. It hadn’t been because of the night, but because the male was evil in every sense of the word. But death would have been far more welcome, compared to the deep possessiveness that the wolverine had over her. To him she was his, body and soul. Her body was to be given without thought, and whenever he deemed it so, and it was when he drank heavily that the real monster came out. That was when the claws tore her flesh, his canines put holes in her body, and his hands left bruises on. And it was the times he lost himself in the club sluts that she relished, because that was the only moment of peace she got from his deviant behavior. But even when he wasn’t around he always had eyes on her, males that were just as vile and disgusting as he was. They were prospects that would have no problem in bringing her to Trick if she tried anything in hopes of getting in good with the club so they could get patched in. But not all MCs were like this, right? That was a question she asked herself frequently, but could never answer.
She finished washing the glasses and started wiping down the bar. Some classic rock song was playing overhead. It was too early in the morning for it, especially when she hadn’t been able to go to sleep with all the noise from the party last night. But she would much prefer the sleepless nights to the ones where she was being tossed about almost violently by Trick.
Sonya tossed the rag in the sink, washed her hands, and took a seat on the barstool. She rubbed her eyes and sighed heavily. Although she hadn’t physically tried to leave after the last time, Sonya never stopped thinking of ways to escape the hell she was in. She let her hand fall to her thigh, the one that had been broken a couple of years ago when Trick had been really drunk and found her trying to leave.
“Hey, get me a beer.”
She lifted her head and looked at the prospect that had the cigarette hanging from his too thin lips. She thought his real name was Mickey, or Ricky, but everyone just called him Bubba.
He pushed off the wall and came toward her. He was a slimy bastard, had been with the club for the last eleven months, and she knew next month his year would be up and the club would decide whether he would be patched in or not. But this wolverine had long black hair hanging past his shoulders in greasy strands, and the smile he gave her was yellow and crooked, and made her picture all sorts of nasty things. She had seen Bubba with the club whores, and although those females willingly degraded themselves, the way Bubba handled them, as if he had a right to mark their bodies, reminded her of Trick. Yes, this male was a bastard in the worst kind of way, but she already knew they would patch him in. Trick stared at him like he was some kind trophy, what with his sadistic ways.
Chills raced along her arms and legs, but she didn’t say anything, just got off the stool, went over to the fridge, and grabbed a beer. After popping the cap and walking back over to Bubba, she held her hand out for him to take the beer. He reached out, wrapped his hand around the neck of the bottle—right over hers—and held her stare. It felt like bugs crawling along her flesh, but then he snatched the beer out of her hand and tipped it back to his mouth.
“Yo, Bubba, crew’s back,” another prospect yelled out.
The sound of motorcycles coming closer had Sonya’s heart racing. Bubba stared at her for another second before chugging the rest of the beer and slamming the bottle on the counter. He made his way over to the other two prospects, but they didn’t leave her alone. Instead they opened the door, and the MC crew piled in. They were laughing as they made their way inside. She moved away from the bar and was going to head to her room when a thick arm wrapped itself around her middle and pulled her back. The chest she slammed up against was all too familiar, and everything inside of her tensed.
Trick buried his nose in her hair and inhaled deeply. He reeked of sweat and stale liquor. But he didn’t molest her in front of everyone like he had more times than she could count. He pulled away from her. “Meeting, boys. Time to bring a little justice to this fucking club.” There was a round of hollers, and then the members were piling into the back room where they held their club business. She didn’t know what they were doing and didn’t want to know. But even if she was privy to what went on behind those meeting room doors, Sonya assumed it was some kind of retaliation against another shifter cub, or illegal shit.
Once the doors were shut she made her way to her room, but she was very aware of the prospects following her. Once in her room, the one that was more like a cell than anything else, she leaned against the closed door. The prospects didn’t come pass the threshold, wouldn’t dare to without meeting the wrath of Trick, but they stayed right outside. Her room was barren of anything aside from the necessities, but she liked it that way. She didn’t even have a window, and the small bathroom looked like it had been resurrected from the seventies. No, this wasn’t her home, even if she had been here for years.