Page 7 of Pearl (Royal Harlots MC, Phoenix, Az. #1)
Pearl
T he cop car with blaring sirens screams past me, doing at least twice my speed, allowing me to inhale a breath I didn’t realize until this moment that I had been holding.
I put the thought of getting stopped out of my mind for now, instead focusing on making it from point A to B in the quickest and safest way possible.
Thankful the cop clearly had somewhere else to be.
Two miles out of Vegas and I see the bar Onyx was able to find and send me directions to.
I slow my speed and scan the landscape for bikers or signs of any other trouble.
I made great time and it’s early, not even the lunch menu has opened, and it doesn’t look like this bar is serving breakfast, which means fewer people and likelihood of interference.
I walk my bike up to the old, dilapidated bar and put my kickstand down, quiet as a church mouse, because I don’t like surprises and sure as hell don’t want anyone inside to know I’m here, until I want them to know.
A dirty window at the back gives me a quick advantage of the layout inside.
A bar the length of the right wall, some worn black bar stools that have seen better days, an old pinball machine, and a door that leads somewhere else.
I leave my bike, fluff my hair and walk around front, causing the bell on top of the door to chime, alerting anyone within ear shot in the back that someone has entered the bar.
A man with old leather-looking skin and a twisted mustache comes out of the back, his eyes raking over me with a look that makes my skin crawl. He wipes his greasy hands on the even greasier white apron he wears. “What’s a pretty little thing like you doing in a place like this?”
Fucking original, slime bag. “I might be lost. Any chance you could help a girl out? I’m heading to Vegas and think I took a wrong turn.”
He smiles, showing a mouth full of chipped yellow teeth. “Let me get a map from the back. I don’t do so good with today’s technology,” he says, but he’s a little too enthusiastic to be getting a map and I know exactly what that fucker is up to.
I walk around the bar and scoot quietly to the door he walked through, listening to the lying little fuck speaking in hushed whispers. “You need to get here now. This one will bring in more money than all of the others combined. Got it. Twenty minutes. I’ll keep her busy.”
My mind races, playing out the different scenarios in my mind.
One fucking thing is certain. I’m nobodies bitch, and the slimy, trafficking son of bitch is not going to be keeping me or anyone else company.
I move deeper behind the door and slide my knife to his throat as he walks through, pinning his Adam’s apple with the tip of my blade, ensuring he doesn’t make a move. “Where are the ladies?”
He doesn’t say a word, not that I expected him to cut his own throat. “Move, take me there, or I cut your throat and you lose your tongue slowly.”
His feet move quickly as piss runs down the leg of his pants and onto the floor. We walk back through the door he came through. A large worn tapestry rug lays on the floor. He taps it with the sole of his dirty worn shoes.
I bang on it with the heel of my boot. “Anyone down there?” I yell, hearing voices that confirm exactly what I thought.
There’s more than one woman being held against her will down there, men are coming for me, and this fucking loser seals his fate when he sends an elbow into my gut and pulls a gun from his pocket.
My knife goes through his throat, fast and clean. Without remorse or guilt of any kind, as the gun meant to end my life drops to the floor.
He grabs his throat. I push him away from me as he falls, blood spurts from the slice in his neck, and he starts bleeding out onto the floor. Maybe I should care more, but I fucking don’t.
Not when I’m pulling open a trap door that hides innocent women.
I push away the rug, lift the heavy wooden makeshift plank and push it over onto the floor.
I climb down the steps slowly, using the light of my phone to guide my way, only to find a bunch of ladies huddled together and staring up at me with wide scared eyes.
Ten in all. Fuck, fuck fuck. I can’t get them all on my bike. “Come with me now. We need to hurry.” Not one of them needs to be told twice. They’re all right on my heels. “One of you Angel’s sister?” I ask, walking up the stairs in front of them to make sure we don’t run into trouble.
“I’m here,” a small voice says from behind me.
“Then let’s move.” I’ve got more than I came for but I’m not leaving the others behind. “Anyone know the area? Anyone—someone who could hide you out and keep you safe for just a short while, while I get more help? There’s trouble coming down the road and it’s coming real fast.”
A woman a little older than the other girls speaks up. “The Rose Tattoo is the bar about a mile out of Vegas. Millie is the barkeeper there. She will help, she’s my sister-in-law. Tell her I’m with them and she’ll help you. My name is Sarah.”
I scan the distance and glance at my watch.
We don’t have long. “Grab those branches right there, and then follow me.” I walk my bike through the sage brush, weaving in and out of the scattered cactus, Joshua trees, and tumbleweeds that are old and dusty as hell but at least may help to provide a little cover from a distance.
The ladies wipe our tracks, just the way I told them, and we make good time.
Not one of them wants to dally and get caught again, not after they just got free.
But that man said twenty minutes, so we don’t have much for time.
The minute we reach Millie’s bar, I put my bike around back, and have the girls stay with it. “Don’t move from this wall. You’re protected from sight here, and I need to find a safe place to stash you for a little bit.”
I walk in and the woman behind the bar looks to be in her late sixties, with a cigarette hanging from her mouth and an ashtray full of butts.
She looks surprised as hell. “Millie, I have Sarah with me. She and some others were kidnapped and were being held by some assholes down the road. I need a place to stash the girls until I can get help. Sarah said you could help? She’s right outside with the others. ”
She puts her cigarette out and then proceeds to light another. “It’s that fucking slimebag down the road, isn’t it?”
Millie doesn’t give me a chance to answer her question. “You bet your ass I’ve got a place. Bring ‘em in the back door. I’ll let you in,” she says, heading toward the back while I go outside to get the girls and enter when she opens the door.
She takes us through the kitchen and to a pantry, then pulls back another door that looks like a shelving system. “What the hell,” I ask under my breath, “does every bar around Vegas have a secret room?”
Millie winks at me. “Mobsters aren’t the only ones who need a safe place to hole up for a while. You’d be surprised how many bars and clubs have a safe haven for people running from the law.”
I could give two fucks who the space was made for as long as it works to keep these ladies out of sight. “I appreciate you taking them in for a little while. I just need a safe place for them until I can return.”
“What about you?” she says.
“I’m female. Male assholes are never going to suspect that I sprang the girls on my own. You keep the ladies here. I’m going to head out and get some help. Are you going to be okay? You need to hide with them, just in case they come here looking?”
Millie laughs. “That’s not going to be a problem, and I don’t fucking hide.”
The minute the ladies are safely out of sight I head out, jump on my bike, and get as far down the road as fast as I can go.
I could go to the police, but chances are with an operation like this, someone is bound to catch wind of it on the radio or have an inside person or family member who will say something to the wrong person and then the fuckers will find the girls.
Or I can get to somewhere farther and call Duchess for help. I opt for the latter and twist the throttle, but the thunderous roar of bikes behind me tells me I’m no longer fucking alone. And the plan I had just took a drastic fucking turn.