Sunny
Maybe this was going to be easier than I had thought. Men—specifically seducing them—was something I had an almost supernatural understanding of. But since joining the Filthy Bastards, my confidence has sunk to an all-time low. It’s not that I lack the look, per se, but for whatever reason, I can’t take on the attitude that the guys typically seek out. They are looking for a girl who is meek and willing, with perfect sized tits and a nice ass. It’s no question—I’ve got the ass and tits down pat. But I’m anything but meek—I know when to stand up for myself, and I’m not afraid to do it.
Kitka was the first one to point this out to me when the club “rescued” me. She had tried to teach me the rules and the culture, but I’d resisted. I didn’t go for the young riders or participate in some of the group activities. Even though I know an MC girl’s job is to serve the men first, I’m not giving up my independence and dignity to blow a guy in need. No way in hell will that ever be me.
I only get away with it because I have an air of mystery around me. I’m fresh meat. Hot shit. A wet hole they hadn’t managed to fuck yet. I make guys’ heads turn when I walk by, especially when I’m sporting these black leather boots of mine. I get the same look that Bear gave to me moments ago when I offered him a drink—toe to head, up and down scanning that’s scorching my insides. But his glare is different. His glare scorches me in a good way. And when he licks his lips at me and plays along with my flirty foolish act, I can see that he feels exactly the same.
Even now, as the fight is gearing up to begin, I see him stealing glances my way through the crowd. Every few minutes, he cranes his neck towards my spot back on the hill under the underpass. When I catch him, I smile, stick out my tongue, even wink. I have to let him know that I’m still interested.
The girls will not shut up about my dare.
“You’re a freaking fool!” Larissa cries after watching me flirt with him again. “Do you know what would happen to you if Killer found out?”
“Yeah!” Mary adds on, “You’re betraying the club all because you want to prove Kitka wrong.”
Kitka hasn’t said a word to me since I got back. She has been as steely and cold as ever. But I see the curve in the line of her mouth. She’s soaking all this up, waiting for me to get in trouble. Little do any of these girls know that I will be “out of the woods” on the consequences of my dare if Bear wins this fight. I will walk off as a free woman with him. Well, as free as you can call yourself as a prize in some hand-to-hand combat fight.
However, if he didn’t win, I could be out a ton of cash. My momma used to say to always bet on yourself. But what if you didn’t have the money to back it up? I won’t be eating for weeks, or I’ll have to rely on the good graces of guys like Ricco to tie me over until my next paycheck. Hell, I might even have to walk the streets for some paying clients, which is a downgrade in the club world. Girls with the brand don’t earn money slumming it with the urchins that pay the MC for protection and their network.
“Filthy Bastards!” cries a man in the center of the roped off square. “Wilderkind! We’re here today to settle a dispute between you two. The Filthy Bastards claim the Wilderkind is poaching on their territory by selling and dealing on the intersection of Columbus and Sunnydale.” A loud roar of boos takes over from the Wilderkind side of the ring.
“The club leadership has decided on a fist-on-fist, three minute round match with the first to KO as the winner. Both clubs have chosen their fighter. For the Filthy Bastards, there’s DJ, and for the Wilderkind, Bear!”
The two men enter the ring followed by the presidents, Vance and Killer. The crowd goes absolutely nuts. Beer cans and bottles are raised high in the air. Even us girls get to our feet, jumping and bouncing while our hands clap. I nearly trip on my own heels—what a great way to remember that I’m still feeling it from all the boozing I did earlier. I scream with the rest of them, refusing to say a specific name.
After a few minutes, it all dies down. The crowd grows impatient for blood while the men do their final handshakes and the boxers begin to stretch it out. The presidents take a spot behind the stakes holding up the ropes and a woman, a Wilderkind old lady no doubt, enters the ring holding up a piece of cardboard with the number one written in black sharpie. She walks the length before hopping out and ringing a small, vintage match bell.
Everything goes silent. Even the bookies shut the hell up in anticipation for the first hit. For several seconds, no one really moves. Bear dances around a bit, moving surprisingly light on his feet for a guy of his size. DJ, on the other hand, moves like a man who goes for the kill shot on the first blow. He’s been the Filthy Bastards fighter for a year now, and he’s earned his keep. A good few inches taller than Bear, he is the one who tumbles for him, his elbow managing to connect. The Filthy Bastards members go fucking nuts!
“Kill him, DJ! Get that bastard!” Mary shouts next to me, unable to contain her excitement. When she sees me eyeing her, she spits back, “What’s wrong with you? The winner gets a cash prize, and you know DJ takes a girl when he’s done.”
“He’s a great ride,” Larissa says, interjecting herself into the conversation once again. “I’ve had him twice after the matches. He’s like a bull. I could barely stay on!”
Fantastic. I could really have done without the visual of the bald bastard and little Larissa cowgirl style in some dirty bedroom.
What I need to be focusing in on is the fight. Bear’s landed some good hits now, mostly to the chest and back. He clearly has more stamina than DJ, so his hits land lighter, but there are more of him. It’s not exactly David and Goliath (more like Goliath versus Goliath), but the men circling the ring treat it like it’s life or death.
When I’m not looking, DJ strikes again—a blow so hard that it knocks Bear off his feet. He stumbles back towards the ropes. DJ, smiling wickedly, comes charging at him. He kicks and spits at Bear. Even though it’s fist-on-fist, no one seems to care. The Filthy Bastards are practically dancing in their spots in celebration. The bookies are starting to collect. And the other side looks on in complete disbelief. Even I hold my breath, waiting for the final knockout finisher.
DJ leans over Bear’s unmoving body. His fist rises into the air dramatically before swiping down. I turn my head over my shoulder towards where the other girls are sitting and cheering, unable to watch my conquest and my money go out the window. But Kitka’s face compels me to look back. Her grin turns to disbelief in milliseconds, and the other girl’s mouths hang wide open.
There is silence as Bear’s arm makes contact with DJ’s fist, swiping it away from his face. He manages to hold him by the wrist and then spins his arm so hard that DJ screams out in agony. His monstrous face goes purple while he drops to his knees near Bear with his good hand gripping his clearly broken arm. He looks even more shocked as Bear’s gigantic body suddenly springs to life. With one swoop, he swings himself onto DJ, pushing him down to the ground. He wastes no time in delivering a blow so powerful we hear it from our perch.
No one cheers when he stands—not even his own guys. They all look on him like he has risen from the dead. His chest is covered in splatters of DJ’s rust colored blood, and he wipes away a trickle of his own from his mouth. The announcer from earlier walks slowly into the ring to call it, but it was clear—Bear defeated DJ fairly.
I pull myself up to stand, not caring about the girls around me. The few behind me try to wave me out of the way, but I’m too excited to contain it. He won—he won me! I’m about to be $200 richer if I can pull this off!
I let out a small yip of joy. I couldn’t care less which one of these busybodies knows it either. Though none of them even dare to make a stand with Cobra walking up the hill towards us.
A knot in my stomach grows. This can’t be good. He’s obviously here for me. But would the Filthy Bastards really allow their property to be turned over to a Wilderkind man? A fighter that just brought down their prized enforcer? I have the feeling that I’m walking into something much bigger than just myself.
“You! Sunny! Let’s go.”
“Go? Where?” Kitka asks her main man.
“Him… the fucking bastard won her.”
Mary rises next to me, more interested than ever in the drama before her. “What do you mean he ‘won’ her?’”
Cobra doesn’t answer. Why should he? The girls didn’t deserve an answer. We were here to be slept with, not to be answered to. It’s my job to quickly explain in the few moments I have Cobra’s patience, “You know how the fighters get a prize if they win? Well, DJ asked for $500, but Bear, the Wilderkind guy, he asked for me… for twenty-four hours.”
“You’re fucking kidding me,” Mary blurts out. “So that means you won? You get Kitka’s cash?”
“No,” Kitka chimes in, “that’s not what we said. She has to come back with something precious of his… something he wouldn’t give away to any girl he slept with. If she wants to claim my money, she’s got to get it off of him and bring it back to headquarters. That is if she survives the night. Bear’s got quite the reputation.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I ask, suspicious of her motives. I know she’s just trying to psych me out, but Kitka knows the MC world in and out, and she, above anyone else, would have the right info.
“Oh, you’ll see, I’m sure. He’s got a temper on him. He likes it rough.”
She slides past me and heads towards Cobra. An arm drapes around his neck, and she kisses him with a wide-open mouth. I swear I see her stare me down as they engage in a full-on makeout session.
Cobra eventually cuts it off, snapping his fingers at me. “Let’s go. I’m not going to wait all night for this.” He turns to the rest of the group. “Killer expects to see the rest of you bitches serving tonight. Best head back before the guys come in wanting to drink this off.”
I slowly march past the men staring me down. Word’s gotten around. I can tell. The Wilderkind catcall me, whistle at me, slap my ass as I move past their side. My boys just stare, completely dumbfounded that I would be okay with this.
A part of me isn’t. I feel like a runaway bride walking down the aisle. Bear stands on the other end of the ropes, toweling his chiseled body off with a t-shirt. He watches me carefully like I’m about to explode on him. I’m not sure I won’t if we get any closer. But Cobra leads the parade and does a quick handoff.
“Twenty-four hours. That’s all I’m giving you. Drop her back off at the clubhouse unharmed, and I’ll let you live another night.”
Bear chuckles loudly. “Did you see who fucked up your guy in the ring? I wouldn’t be threatening me.” He reaches for me, yanking me by the hand. The alcohol and the fear cause me to stumble straight into his arms. I feel like a damn fool grasping at his abs like this. Kitka, standing behind Cobra, looks mildly amused at it all.
“I know about you, Bear,” Cobra says with his finger pointed directly at his temple. “I know a helluva lot more than you think. You remember that this girl belongs to the Filthy Bastards come tomorrow.”
Bear pushes me behind him as he states, “But tonight, she’s mine.”
Cobra spits at the ground, nailing Bear on the boot. In the Filthy Bastards’ world, the guy spat on would’ve had to be leashed to be held back, but Bear doesn’t make a sound or move a hulking muscle. He just stares at Cobra and Kitka with his arms crossed.
Finally, he asks me from over his shoulder, “You ready to go?”
“Yeah,” my voice quivers. “Sure.”
I go to walk, but two hands hold me in place. They scoop up my legs and hoist me over a shoulder. Bear holds tightly to my waist as I squeal in surprise. I half-try to get myself out of this, but I know it’s a long way down from here, and I’m not about to fall in front of all of the Filthy Bastards watching me like hawks.
Kitka, out of sight from Cobra, waves at me with her little, thorny fingers.
“Enjoy.” She smirks.
I want nothing more than to wipe that smug little witchy grin off of her face, but I’m already halfway across the parking lot before I can make a move. Bear brings me to where is old Harley is parked.
It’s a beater, for sure. One of those 1980s models. It’s oversized and bulky for no reason whatsoever. Back then, guys liked them so they could show off some prestige. Nowadays, the riders want something smaller, sleeker, faster—especially if they’re outrunning the cops or another club. A ride like this won’t go too far.
Bear catches me staring. “It’s not gonna bite. I’d think you’ve ridden one before given your current… occupation.”
“I’m not a fucking hooker if that’s what you’re implying.”
“Didn’t say you were.” He hands me his jet-black helmet. At least no one will recognize me with this thing on. “Get on the damn bike so we can get the fuck out of here. I’m not ready to go for round two.”
Bear looks out to the greater parking lot, which is now filling up with drunk, bitter Filthy Bastards. I didn’t realize earlier what it would mean to win me for a night. He isn’t just taking the pride of the club by knocking out DJ, but he’s also challenging a different, more sacred, kind of territory. Even though us ladies get shit on and tossed aside, we are valuable status symbols. We make the club run and the men want to join up. Bear is taking away their newest girl, and that can’t be sitting too well with any of them.
Without another thought, I hop on, straddling the back of his thighs and hips. I have just enough time to wrap my arms around his waist before we lurch off. Instantly, I understand why a guy like Bear would love a ride like this. It’s smoother than any hog I’ve been on, and it roars like a lion out on the hunt. Each corner we take, it can speed through without threatening to tip, and it hits speeds easier than the newer models.
I’m converted. No crapping on older rides ever again. I hate to admit it, but a moment with him on the highway and my mind is completely clear. There are no more fights, no more blood, no more Kitka irritating the hell out of me.
It’s just him, me, the open road, and the dare to bring back my own prize for my troubles.