Page 11

11

T emptation is evil. I’ve been taught that all my life, and I know from experience how true it can be, yet I war with myself over the desire to go against Ringo’s wishes and make a call on his phone. How easy it would be to just dial the number I’ve had memorised for years. To make the call and speak to the girl who is my very best friend, even if I’m not hers.

Instead, I lay on the bed, trying to block out the thumping music from outside the door and window and pretend I don’t hear all the giggling and squealing women who sound like they are having the time of their lives.

With my gaze cast to the screen of the phone, I reread the same sentence in the eBook I read only moments ago, and finally make it to the next paragraph before chanting from outside distracts me .

“Ugh,” I sneer, dropping the phone to the bed and rolling off to hurry over to the window.

I can’t help myself. I want to see what’s going on.

Slowly, and gently, I pull back the thin scrap of fabric they call a curtain, just enough to peer out to the party happening beyond.

There has to be close to fifty people out there. The men outnumber the women, but I don’t think that matters by the way they all seem to share the females.

My heart picks up pace in my chest, and I can’t tell if it’s excitement or nervousness causing it. I try to spot Ringo in the crowd, but I can’t see him anywhere, and a jarring thought hits me.

Is he in another room with a woman… having sex?

I shake my head at the thought, because it’s simply none of my business or my concern. What he does is up to him. He’s only my babysitter, after all. Or perhaps captor?

Ugh. I have no idea what he is exactly, and it irks me that I even care.

He was aroused earlier. I saw it. The very hard bulge in his jeans. I tried not to look, but when I pretended to look at the sex toy he and I were discussing, which now seems so strange that I even had that conversation, instead of focusing my gaze on the vagina thingy, I stared at his hard junk straining against his jeans.

He wouldn’t have known I was doing it with the angle my head was in, but it sure helped to add that embarrassing heat to my cheeks.

The funny thing is, it’s been such a long time since I even remotely considered a penis to be something of interest. Part of me had it in my head that perhaps it was safer for me to be a lesbian, even if I don’t really like the idea of being intimate with a woman. It just seemed like a safer option, and I had thought that if I could get away from Daniel and my family, then perhaps I’d cut my hair off and simply hang around with females for the rest of my life.

I bite my lip as I remember watching Ringo slide his finger inside the hole of his toy. The sound of it sucking his digit caused a flutter between my legs, not for the first time since being in his company.

Which is weird, right?

He’s like, so old. My reaction must have to do with my newfound freedom, or at least partial freedom. I may be locked in this seedy motel with a biker gang, but I feel freer than I have in so long, it almost makes me happy.

Deciding that watching the chaos outside the room is more interesting than reading right now, I move to flick off all the lights and drag one of the flimsy dining chairs to the window where I draw the curtain back just enough that I can see out, but not so much that it will be obvious to those out there that someone is inside here watching.

At least, I hope not.

The same flutter between my legs returns when I see a heavily inked man with a short beard tear off his shirt and start kissing one of the women. She instantly wraps her arms around him before he lifts her, and her legs do the same.

As they kiss, he walks them over to a table where he lays her out and starts removing her clothes. I can feel my cheeks flare hotter at the sight of her bare flesh and the way she arches her back off the table. It sends her boobs higher. The golden light from the courtyard, which must have once been where cars parked, is just bright enough to show me a glimpse of her hard nipples before the man starts sucking on them.

I shift on the seat, rubbing my thighs together as the flutter increases.

I shouldn’t be watching their private moment. I know that. It’s a sinful act, yet for some reason just knowing that makes me not want to look away.

Besides, others are watching. Some have pulled chairs up as if they are watching a show. There are a couple of women grinding on men’s laps doing some sort of lap dance.

I spot one of the men that was with Ringo when they kidnapped me. The one that drove the truck. I think his name is Stocky. Like Ringo, he’s not a bad-looking man for someone that looks like he hasn’t done his hair today. He has a cigarette hanging from his lips, and as he stands watching, he begins to undo his jeans.

He’s not going to…

Oh.

Heck. He is. He just got his penis out.

Ringo’s words come to me from earlier.

“This thing isn’t a penis. It’s a cock.”

My lips part as I take in Stocky and the way he wraps his hand around his appendage.

Ringo is right. Penis just isn’t the right word for something that looks like that.

“It’s a cock,” I whisper to myself, the word feeling weird to say. “Cock,” I say louder, before snickering to myself .

I’m losing the plot. Now not only am I spying like a peeping Tom, but I’m talking to myself about cock.

When one of the women steps up in front of Stocky, I’m almost annoyed that she’s blocking my view, but then, he points to the ground, his lips parting as he speaks to her, and the next second, she drops to her knees.

Bad memories try to rush me, but even as my lip trembles, I will them away because even if what I’m doing right now is wrong, I don’t care. It’s the most normal I’ve felt since I first got together with Daniel, back when I thought he actually liked me.

Maybe I shouldn’t be watching like a creeper or feeling that flutter that I never thought I’d feel again, but I need this. I don’t know why, but I just need to see these acts happening with both parties willing. Both parties getting pleasure.

As the woman wraps her lips around Stocky, I take a risk and move my hand to press between my legs, desperation guiding me to see if I can ever feel pleasure again.

The shrill of Ringo’s phone ringing forces a squeal past my lips, and the chair nearly falls backwards as I leap up and spin to face the noise.

Over on the bed is Ringo’s phone screen, lit up brightly as the ringing sound increases.

Shit.

He’s waiting for an important call.

Dashing forward, I scoop the phone up to see the name flashing across the screen.

IMPORTANT.

That’s it. No other name to say who it is, and I guess names probably aren’t used so much in organised crime.

Placing the phone on the table as it stops ringing, I move to the door and lift on my tiptoes to see through the peephole. I can’t see anyone immediately in front of the door, but Ringo said Brody, the crude guy that I walked in on yesterday, was the one he tasked to stand by the door, so I carefully unlock it before gently cracking the door open just a smidge.

The sounds of the party flow in loudly through the small crack, and so do some moans of pleasure so close I can’t help but see who they are coming from.

Brody. He’s just outside the door, his jeans around his ankles.

He’s having sex right there, pounding into a woman up against the wall.

“Oh my god,” I whisper and hurry to close the door again, spinning to press my back against it.

He’s such an animal. Couldn’t he have waited until later to do that? Like once Ringo had returned?

The phone lights up and starts ringing again, and my heart begins to thrash in my chest with anxious energy.

Ringo said the call was important. He needs to return it soon after. I need to get the message to him that it’s ringing.

Spinning again, I crack the door open again, a little wider this time, and work up the courage to use my voice.

“Brody,” I whisper, and then want to slap myself because, as if anyone would have heard that. I could barely hear my own voice.

FML!

“Brody.” I hiss louder this time, but still, he continues to thrust between the woman’s legs as she makes muling cries .

Ugh. This guy!

“Brody!” I snap louder, and this time I get a grunt of acknowledgement from him. “Get Ringo. The call he’s been waiting for is happening now.”

“Yeah.” Brody pants, pulling back enough so I can see his pleasure-pained expression, but he doesn’t stop, his eyes dropping to watch where their bodies join.

The phone stops ringing again, so I close the door and start pacing.

I don’t know what the urgency is with this call, but Ringo was dead serious about needing to take it, and he was doing me a favour by leaving his phone with me, so I had something to do.

I feel bad now for that. If he didn’t have to worry about my bitching about being bored, he’d have his phone and he would have taken the call by now.

Normally, people would be patient and just wait for them to call, but what if it’s his mum? He said she was sick. What if something has happened? Or what if it’s a crime lord, and the call was part of some sort of deal they made that will fall through if he doesn’t take the call?

What if… My thoughts trail off as the phone starts ringing again.

Hurrying to the door again, I crack it open and snap louder. “Brody, stop doing that and get Ringo now.”

“Who’s in Ringo’s room?” the girl asks, trying to pry her head from the brick wall to look in my direction, but Brody’s hand wraps around her throat, baring his teeth as he thrusts harder and faster.

“Focus on fucking me like a good whore. ”

His words stir my memories again. The urge to scream at him for saying such crude things to the woman who is giving herself to him is almost too hard to resist, yet I do.

He’s not going to stop what he’s doing until he’s satisfied, and like Ringo said, she is consenting, although I have no idea why a woman would let a man speak to her like that.

Hot tears pool in my eyes as I close the door again and stare at the phone as it rings a few more times before stopping.

What do I do?

Moving to the window, I take stock of the situation out there.

Everyone is busy. The sex scene I was watching before has grown with more women and men now partaking, all preoccupied.

I still can’t see Ringo, though.

Once again, the damn phone starts ringing, so I decide I must make an executive decision.

I need to find Ringo myself.

Moving to the bathroom, I check over myself. I’m wearing black leggings and Ringo’s huge black hoodie. It’s like a dress on me, and even though it’s too hot for these clothes, they bring me a sense of comfort.

My hair is still in braids, so I lift the hood and tug on the cords, drawing the hood tighter around my face a little before slipping on my runners.

“You can do this,” I tell my reflection, before spinning and snatching up the phone again.

At the door, I open it a little wider to see Brody has changed position. The girl now bent over a chair by the door, facing the other direction as he pounds into her from behind .

My heart races and I suck in a deep breath and step outside, forcing myself to ignore the fact this douche of a guy is busy having sex right in front of me.

“Brody. Where’s Ringo?”

My words have him grunting again while waving a dismissive hand at me. “Prez’s room.”

“Where is that?” I snap, my eyes darting around even as I keep my head cast down, hoping to avoid becoming an interest to anyone watching on.

“Across the lot.” He grunts, before slapping the woman’s arse. “The main house by the pool.”

I gulp.

Across the lot. He means this courtyard packed with bikers and practically naked women.

The phone starts ringing again, and a quick glance shows ‘IMPORTANT’ flashing across the screen again, so I flick it to silent and hurry forward into the crowd of people.