Farrah

 

After Connor left, it took me a solid five minutes to be able to move at all.

 

And not because of the duct tape.

 

Part of it was the soreness. He had been rough. My skin stung. My pussy throbbed. My jaw ached. But even that wasn’t the main cause of me not being able to move.

 

It was the orgasms, still rolling over me long after he had left.

 

Clearly, Connor had wanted to show me my place. A whore’s place. That didn’t surprise me. What surprised me was how much I liked it. Cumming again and again as he pounded me. Something about being totally in his power turned me on. It made me feel like a slut. Hell, I was a slut.

 

And I loved a good pounding.

 

Once I regained control of my body, I wiggled down to the floor to rest. I was still tied up, and my long minute spent alone made it pretty clear that Connor was not coming back any time soon. I needed to find a way to free myself.

 

Fortunately, I was lucky. By lying down on the floor and rolling over, I spotted the sharp end of a nail protruding from the bottom of Connor’s desk, evidence of some poor craftsmanship. I squirmed my way to it, and, by rubbing the tape vigorously back and forth on the sharp point, I was able to free my wrists. Once they were free, undoing the tape around my ankles was easy.

 

And by ‘easy’ I mean mechanically so. Ripping that sticky mess off my poor, sensitive skin was another matter entirely. At long last, I was free. The leather outfit being the only part of my clothing that survived Connor’s onslaught, I zipped it up, soothed by its coolness on my sore skin, and sat down at Connor’s desk, wondering what the hell to do now.

 

Honi was back. I realized I should probably find some way to talk to her, to see if the Minghellis had said anything important. I figured that at the moment she probably had her legs wrapped around Montengo, so that would have to wait.

 

Which left the envelope.

 

It was funny. Connor had been so angry that I’d stolen it, and yet, after he’d fucked my brains out, he seemed to have forgotten all about it. It was still lying on the floor, right where he’d thrown it before tearing my clothes off. Wincing as I bent over, I reached down and picked it up.

 

Here it was, the source of so much craziness, right in this crumpled, dirt-stained little envelope. It made me kind of dizzy to think about how much had happened, from my aunt’s death to Connor’s fucking, as a result of what was inside this tiny fold of paper.

 

Feeling slightly nervous, I slipped my finger along the edge, ready to reopen it and take out what was inside.

 

“Princess?”

 

I froze, my heart thundering. I looked up at the door and saw Connor standing there, a neutral expression on his face. The envelope was clearly in my hands, obvious for him to see. I wondered what he’d do. Would be beat me? Fuck me again?

 

Instead, he just stared at me for several long seconds.

 

“Come on, Princess,” he said at last. “We’re going out.”

 

He turne, and led me from the room. In the split second I had after he turned around, I stashed the envelope in one of his desk drawers and followed him out.

 

# # #

 

I was confused and increasingly nervous as he led me out of the compound and ordered me onto the back of his bike. Where was he taking me? Was he going to turn me into the Minghellis? No, he wouldn’t do that. He was too invested in what was going on. His curiosity was my safety line. When we peeled away from the compound and took a new route—one I wasn’t familiar with—I felt my wonder and anticipation grow.

 

What did he want with me now?

 

I did not have to wait long to find out. Rather than heading into the city, we drifted out into the suburbs, where small, closely knit little apartments lined square-patched lawns. We pulled up in front of a particularly nice one, complete with a two car garage and a large hammock suspended from between two trees.

 

He pulled up to the garage, parked the bike in the green shadow of tree leaves, and dismounted.

 

Nervously, I dismounted as well. Everything at this place was so nice and friendly that it sent all the warning bells going off in my head. Perhaps I’d been living in danger and gloom so long that I couldn’t help but feel strange.

 

Connor marched up to the door. He undid a little zipper on his breast pocket, fished out a silver key, and slid it inside the lock. A moment later the door opened. He glanced at me, said, “Well, aren’t you coming?” And stepped inside.

 

I gulped, took a deep breath, and followed.

 

Inside was a nice little apartment. Immediately, the word “bachelor pad” sprang to mind. It was all leather and suede, shades of black and brown, with an enormous television and a mini-fridge right within reach of the expansive couch. It wasn’t messy, but it definitely had a “men only” vibe to it. The smell of cigarettes and cologne was strong. The hamper was full to the brim, and the window was lined with rinsed whiskey bottles that caught and reflected the sunlight from outside. I noticed that there were almost no pictures on the wall. Only one, above the mantle. It was too far away to study closely.

 

“Is … this your apartment?” I asked. It certainly smelled like him. The delicious scent of it at once made me dizzy and exhilarated.

 

“Yes,” he said. “A modest place. When the club doesn’t cover the rent, I help Joey out at his car shop. He’s doing well.”

 

“You, too,” I said, impressed. It was certainly much classier than I would have expected. Which did not allay my nervousness, by the way.

 

“So,” I ventured, “What exactly are we doing here?”

 

I didn’t mean it to sound stand offish. It did, but I hadn’t meant it to.

 

He hesitated, opening his mouth as if to say something. Nothing came out. It felt like a solid ten seconds he stood there, just looking at me. Then, he said, “I’m here to make you dinner.”

 

“Dinner?” I blurted. I couldn’t help it.

 

“Yeah,” he replied. “You’ve been eating nothing but fast food crap since you arrived. Aren’t you in the mood for something nice?”

 

“Well, yeah!” I exclaimed. What the fuck was going on? Why was he being so nice? Hours ago he had seemed interested in punishing me for sneaking out to rescue Honi and fucking me into oblivion.

 

“Good,” he said. “I got chicken or pork. Which would you prefer?”

 

“Uh, chicken,” I said. I figured it was the harder of the two to fuck up. Despite Connor’s many admirable qualities, I would not guess that he was a good cook. I knew few bikers who were.

 

Still, within minutes, I heard the sound of hot oil popping and the bitter scent of onions being sliced. Connor bid me sit down on the couch while he cooked, and I did so, feeling really awkward.

 

What should I be doing? What was I supposed to do? What would a whore do? I thought I knew the answer to that one. They’d change into lingerie or get naked.

 

I had no lingerie, and something told me that getting naked was not what Connor was looking for—at the moment, anyway. If he’d wanted me naked, we could have just stayed at the clubhouse.

 

Could he just want to spend time with me? I thought. No. That would have been ridiculous. He had made it pretty clear that this was a whore/biker relationship and nothing more.

 

Then, as I heard him humming Johnny Cash to himself and flicking the spatula against the frying pan, another thought occurred to me:

 

He was buttering me up to get me to tell him the truth about me and Honi. I knew he sensed it. In fact, it seemed fairly obvious at this point.

 

So why wasn’t I telling him?

 

I need to protect Honi, I thought.

 

That was partly true. In order for her to keep living out her fantasy, she needed people to keep believing she was Farrah Michaels. And yet, this put her in even more danger, so I don’t know if my thinking was sound.

 

I need to protect myself. Bullshit. I was in about as much danger as could be.

 

I need to protect my aunt’s name. There was something to that. I needed access to that envelope. I needed to make sure she hadn’t died in vain.

 

I didn’t know if Connor could be trusted to help me. He obviously would protect me if he could. He had already proven that. But he had also proven that the club came first. If he had to choose between me and the club, I knew exactly what he would pick.

 

Which led me to my final realization.

 

I don’t want to disappoint Connor.

 

How mad would he be when he found out I’d been lying to him all this time? And how upset would I be when I was no longer his whore? Of course, I no longer wanted to be thought of as a prostitute, but that didn’t mean I wanted to stop belonging to him.

 

Christ, Farrah. You’re in deep.

 

That was true. And what was also true was that the smells coming from the kitchen were delicious.

 

After a few more minutes, I heard the click of the stove being turned off, and Connor waltzed in carrying two heaping plates of steaming food. Before I could even look properly, my mouth began to water.

 

“What is it?” I asked as he sat down beside me and handed me a plate.

 

“Chicken stir fry on couscous,” he said. “My dad’s old specialty. One of the very few things I have of who he is.”

 

I took a forkful. “Well, it’s delicious,” I said, not caring that my mouth was full. That’s how good it was, especially after all the fast food.

 

Connor sighed. I noticed he was only picking at his meal, while I was devouring mine. His gaze kept flicking to the picture over the mantle. Now that I was closer to it, I could see that it was a picture of a middle-aged man leaning over the edge of a boat and holding an enormous, freshly caught fish. He had a broad smile on his face, and I realized he looked an awful lot like Connor.

 

“Is that him?” I asked between mouthfuls. “Your father?”

 

He nodded. “He used to love fishing. He’d take me and my mother out, a long, long time ago. Those were good days.”

 

“Oh!” I exclaimed. “Do you have a picture of her?”

 

Connor’s expression darkened. “No,” he said. “And even if I did, I wouldn’t show it. That bitch tore my father’s heart out. It’s what killed him in the end.”

 

I winced, hearing the way he said the word, ‘bitch.’ That tone was too familiar.

 

“What do you mean?” I asked.

 

“She left us. Left him. I wasn’t older than fucking four.”

 

He slammed his plate down on the coffee table.

 

“And after she was gone—taking all of his fucking money. The house. The boat. Everything—my father just kind of lost it. He went sailing in a storm. Never returned. Whether he did it on purpose … I’ll never know.”

 

I listened, letting the tragedy of the story wash over me. I wasn’t used to hearing such emotions in Connor’s voice, and they fascinated me.

 

He sighed and plucked his plate up again, pushing the bits of meat and stir fry around at random. “Anyway,” he continued. “After that I was on my own. You know anything about foster care? It fucking sucks. I thought that was it. And then the Devil’s Wings took me in. They’ve been family ever since.”

 

I blinked in amazement. So this explained Connor’s loyalty to the Devil’s Wings! At first, I had thought it had been a simple monetary, power thing. It gave him access to violence. But then, I realized that wasn’t it; it had given him access to family.

 

No wonder he did everything to put the motorcycle club first.

 

Finished, it was my turn to put down my plate. “I know a little bit about foster care,” I admitted. “My parents also died when I was young, and I was briefly in the system until Aunt … until Venus Michaels took me in. It wasn’t for long, but it was long enough to show me what a good woman Venus Michaels was.”

 

“She had a great reputation, even among bikers,” added Connor. “That’s really rare for a woman.”

 

At his words, I suddenly felt my grief welling up in me once more. Not knowing if it was okay, not knowing if he would get angry or kick me out, I leaned over and settled myself against him. My hand crept across his chest and rested contentedly over his beating heart.

 

I closed my eyes, waiting for his reaction. Would he be upset?

 

No. He wasn’t. Instead, he shifted as well, wrapping his arm around my shoulder and letting me lie close. It seemed crazy to me that this was the same man who had fucked me so violently earlier.

 

As if reading my mind, he suddenly whispered, “I’m sorry if I hurt you. I when we found you at the Minghelli place, and I almost shot you, I was scared. And when I get scared, I get angry, so …”

 

I turned and kissed him on the jawline. “It’s okay,” I murmured back, closing my eyes again.

 

We rested like that for a few minutes while I breathed in the smell of him, wishing that that moment could have lasted forever.