Dark Passions: Dark Romance Boxed Set, page 37
“Does that feel better?” he said.
She didn’t know how to take him. Was he trying to be friendly, to be kind, or was he just toying with her?
***
Most of the day Patrice sat outside her room on the landing. She could see outside when he opened the door. Her room was on the upper level of the motel overlooking the parking lot. Across the lot was a highway and then trees. Trees were everywhere in this place. She was so far from civilization, so far north, she wondered if she would ever be able to escape.
Patrice knocked lightly on her door before entering. She thought it was weird, pointless even, considering she was tied to the bed. It had been a few hours since he’d last been in the room.
“You okay?” he said.
She didn’t answer. It was such a strange question. Of course she wasn’t okay. She was a captive. She was anything but okay.
“Come on,” he said. “Don’t be sullen. I’m not here to hurt you.”
She looked at him. She knew she should try to be friendly, she should try and maintain as positive a relationship with him as possible. She knew that. She was his captive, he was her guard. He had absolute power over her. But something inside her resisted. She couldn’t bare to be friendly. After all that had happened, making friends was not on her list of things to do.
But surviving was, she told herself, and if she wanted to survive, she needed friends. She gave Patrice a thin smile. It was hardly a smile at all, but it was enough. He came into the room.
“I can turn on the TV if you like.”
She didn’t say anything. She just couldn’t do it. She couldn’t pretend that she liked him, that everything was okay. She couldn’t pretend that she wanted to watch television. She’d been raped! She’d been kidnapped. She’d been tied to a bed for so long that she didn’t even know how much time had passed.
“I could use some water,” she said.
“Of course,” he said. “Of course you could. I’m such an idiot.”
He went into the bathroom and came back with a glass of tap water. He’d loosened her cords but she was still tied to the bed and the only way she could drink was for him to help her.
He sat on the bed next to her and put his arm behind her head and helped her up a little. She leaned forward and drank from the glass. A lot of it spilled down her chin but she didn’t care. She was parched. She felt the water flowing into her stomach and giving her life.
“Is that better?” he said.
She looked at him and then looked away immediately. She didn’t want to make friends. She didn’t want to be a fool. She’d studied psychology in school. She knew about captives identifying with their captors. Patrice looked kind but looks could be deceiving. He seemed like a nice guy but then what was he doing with a gang like the DRMC?
He was just a little younger than she was. He was probably twenty or twenty-one. He had short brown hair that curled tightly. He was wearing a white shirt under his DRMC jacket. She could tell from the patches on his back that he was just a prospect for the club. He was still putting in his time, doing simple, menial tasks while he earned his way up the ranks to full membership. Being a prospect meant he still had to prove himself. Maybe the club hadn’t had time yet to harden him. She knew that the DRMC was a mean club, it was cruel and it hurt the people that opposed it. She knew that too well. But maybe this man, Patrice, was still a good kid. Maybe.
“You want anything else?” he said.
Maybe he was a good kid but maybe not. Maybe this was all an act. Maybe he was playing with her, leading her on, trying to get her to open up and trust him for some reason. She wouldn’t ordinarily have been so suspicious of someone but given the circumstances, her guard was right up.
“No,” she said.
Patrice shrugged. He looked at her for a few seconds before getting up from the bed and leaving the room.
She watched him leave. She had to figure this out. She knew her mind wasn’t working properly, she wasn’t thinking clearly. She couldn’t tell if she was being crazy for wanting to trust Patrice, or if it was crazier to be cold to him. Maybe she was provoking him. If he really wanted to be her friend she should have been doing everything she could to encourage it. She desperately needed a friend. He could bring her food, let her wash, let her know what was going on.
But then, how could she trust anyone in this place? After what had happened, how could she even be considering it. She should have been trying to come up with a way to slit Patrice’s throat, not wondering about whether or not she could trust him.
IV
Rose must have nodded off because it was getting dark when she realized someone was entering the room.
“Patrice?” she said, but as soon as she said it she wished she hadn’t.
It was dangerous to give anything away. What if it wasn’t Patrice? What if it was and he realized she was becoming dependent on him? He was just a prospect. What if it was the chapter president and he thought she and Patrice were getting involved? She get into all sorts of trouble for being complacent, for using his name like that.
“It’s me.”
Thank God, Rose thought. She was so terrified that Fat Boy would be coming back. It had been nighttime when he’d raped her. What if he was going to be watching her during the night again? What if he came back every night to rape her? That would be a hell worse than death. Patrice had been watching her all day. He couldn’t be on guard duty forever, though. Someone would have to come and relieve him soon.
“Hi,” she said.
It was strange. It sounded too casual. Why would she be saying hi to him? It didn’t feel right. She was his prisoner. He’d been sitting outside the door of her room for hours, smoking cigarettes.
“Hi,” he said and smiled. “I’m just checking to see how you’re holding up.”
She wondered what she should say to that. She hadn’t been let up off the bed for so long that she wasn’t sure if her limbs would move. She hadn’t been to the toilet since she’d been captured. Her wrists and ankles burned every time she moved.
“I wouldn’t mind using the washroom,” she said.
He nodded. “I was wondering how long before you asked to go.”
“I’ve been lying here for days.”
“You probably want to shower too.”
She looked at him to see if he was being sincere. As far as she could tell, he was.
“Do you think I could?”
Patrice looked at his watch. “It’s seven thirty. I’m watching you till nine.”
Rose could feel her heart pounding in her chest. She couldn’t believe that he might actually let her up to wash.
“Who’s coming at nine?” she said.
She was scared. What if it was Fat Boy?
“I don’t know.”
She nodded. “I really could use the washroom,” she said.
Patrice looked at her. He looked at his watch again. He was weighing it up.
“Are you allowed to let me up?”
“I’m not,” he said. “I’m not supposed to untie you for anything.”
“What do they think I’m going to do?” she said.
Patrice shrugged. “Escape, I guess.”
Rose looked at him. It was obvious she wasn’t going anywhere. Once he untied her she’d hardly be able to stand without help.
“I’m not going to escape.”
Patrice nodded. “Okay,” he said. “You can use the washroom, the sink, but you better not shower. I don’t want to get in trouble.”
Rose looked at him. “Thank you,” she said.
Patrice was surprisingly gentle when he untied the cords around her ankles and wrists.
“Okay,” he said when the cords were open. “You’re free.”
She blinked.
“I mean, free to use the washroom.”
She nodded. She waited a minute before trying to get up. It had been days. She didn’t want to rush it. She relaxed her muscles and moved her arms and legs slowly. They were stiff and as the blood flowed back into the limbs she got the most terrible tingling sensation. She moved a little and waited for the tingling to subside.
“Are you alright?” Patrice said.
“I’ll be okay,” she said. “I just need a minute for the feeling to come back.”
He nodded. When she thought she could, she sat up on the side of the bed and put her legs over the side.
“Let me help you,” Patrice said and stood next to her.
He put his hand under her arm and helped her up. His grip of her body was firm. She held on to him to steady herself.
“Thank you,” she said.
He nodded. He let go of her and she walked carefully toward the washroom.
“Rose,” he said as she reached the door.
She looked back. She hadn’t known he knew her name.
“I’m really sorry about all of this,” he said.
She smiled sadly and then went into the washroom and shut the door. There was a window and she didn’t want him to think she was trying to escape so she didn’t lock it.
“I’m not locking it,” she called out.
“Okay.”
“Don’t come in.”
She used the toilet and then unzipped her bodysuit and pulled it off her. It felt so good to take the leather off her skin. After three days, the tightness of it was beginning to become unbearable. She wasn’t wearing her bra. She didn’t know where it was. Fat Boy hadn’t put it back on her after he’d done what he’d done. She assumed he’d thrown it out. She was still wearing the panties, though. She stripped out of them. She was completely naked. She grabbed the cotton towel from the rail on the door and ran it under the sink. When it was wet she used it to wipe her entire body. The water felt so good, so soothing against her clammy skin. She looked at the suit. She didn’t relish the idea of putting it back on but she had no choice. She couldn’t go outside naked.
She cleaned everything. She tried not to think of Fat Boy as she wiped the towel over her vagina. She’d been forced to lie there for all those hours with the stink of him still on her. She checked the cupboard for a toothbrush and toothpaste but there were none. She washed out her mouth with soap. It wasn’t pleasant but it was better than thinking about the kiss that Fat Boy had given her. She washed her body as best she could and drank as much water as she could from the tap. Then reluctantly she got back into the racing suit and zipped it up. If there was a lock on the zip she would gladly have used it. She was starting to worry about who would be guarding her for the night. She was scared of whose horrible hands might be unzipping that suit in the darkness.
V
Patrice fastened her back to the bed when she came out of the washroom. She thanked him for letting her clean up.
“It’s the least I can do,” he said.
She nodded.
“Is there anything else you need?”
She felt bad. She didn’t want to create a relationship of dependency with him. She didn’t want him to start thinking of her as his girl. There were so many things she needed. She needed a toothbrush and toothpaste, clean clothes and underwear, deodorant, food, water, everything, but she decided not to ask. She couldn’t put herself in that position. She couldn’t let herself feel like she owed him something. He had too much power over her.
“No,” she said. “I don’t need anything.”
She lay there on her back and looked up at him. For a moment, the way he looked at her, she thought that maybe something had crossed his mind. Something dark, sinister. It reminded her of the look Fat Boy had given her before raping her. She was so vulnerable in this place, she had to remember that. Anyone could turn on her.
It reminded her that no matter how much kindness Patrice showed her, she had to be careful. She had to keep her guard up. She was so vulnerable tied to the bed like that, that anything at all could happen.
“I better go wait outside,” Patrice said.
She wondered if he was waiting outside to remove himself from temptation. Maybe it was difficult for him to have to watch her like that, tied to the bed. Maybe it was tempting to him to see her so vulnerable. It would be so easy for him to do something to her. It had been so easy for Fat Boy.
She shuddered as he left the room. The situation was dire. How could she survive like this? She didn’t even know who was going to be guarding her that night. What if it was Fat Boy?
Outside she heard Patrice’s cellphone ring. He spoke on the phone for a few minutes and then came back into the room.
“Serge, the vice-president of the Val-d’Or chapter, you know him?”
“Not really,” Rose said.
“Well, he’s on his way.”
Rose said nothing. She could tell from the way Patrice was speaking to her that he was worried. He was warning her.
“Serge is a tough guy,” Patrice continued. “He can be unpredictable.”
She nodded. She was grateful for the warning but she wasn’t sure what she could do about it. She was tied to a bed. All that Patrice’s warning was doing was scaring her.
“Just don’t upset him. He can be nice. Try to stay on his good side.”
Rose nodded. That was the game, it seemed. She had to try and stay on everyone’s good side while being tied to a bed and periodically raped by one of the guards. Not much chance of winning a game like that, she thought.
***
She heard Serge’s motorcycle pull up to the parking lot and a minute later he was on the landing outside her door. He told Patrice he was off duty and then he came into the bedroom. He didn’t knock first as Patrice had done. He just came right in.
He turned on the light to get a better view of her. Rose was frightened. She looked up at him, Serge Gauthier, the vice-president of the Val-d’Or chapter of the DRMC. He was notorious. She’d heard his name before. Even in Montreal people knew about him. The DRMC had been making a name for themselves in a big way, they’d wiped out most of the city’s other biker clubs about ten years earlier and anyone connected to them knew about Serge Gauthier. In some circles he was regarded as a living legend. In others, people spoke about him as if he was the devil himself. Rose had heard so many stories, shocking stories, that she no longer knew what to believe.
He was well-built, like a fighter, with the black leather jacket of the DRMC on over a white t-shirt and ripped jeans. He was probably in his forties but he looked younger. He had dark stubble, a shaved head and piercing eyes that darted around the room like a hawk’s.
Rose knew as soon as she laid eyes on him that at least some of the stories she’d heard must have been true. He had the look of a killer, a predator.
“I’m Serge Gauthier,” he said to her. “I’m VP here in Val-d’Or. I’m the reason you’re being held captive.”
Rose didn’t know what to say. She was terrified of the man who was standing in front of her. He took off his jacket and she could see the tattoos on his muscular arms and neck. He was a real piece of work.
“You’re wrong,” she said.
She knew she wasn’t supposed to antagonize Serge but she couldn’t help it. She’d been through too much.
“What did you say?”
“You’re not the reason I’m here. Rex Savage is. And one day I’ll slit his throat.”
Serge looked at her for a moment, and then laughed.
“Those are some big words from a girl who’s tied to a bed.”
Rose shrugged. She meant it.
“Well,” Serge continued. “I’ve never been a man to stand between someone and the revenge they seek. If you say you’ll get Rex back for what he’s done to you, I can respect that. And maybe one day you’ll even do it. But right now you’ve got more pressing obligations.”
“What do you mean?”
“The reason I’m holding you here is because you’re going to work for me.”
“I’ll never work for the DRMC. My father was a Sioux Ranger. He was one of the men you guys wiped out on Bloody Sunday, ten years ago.”
Serge was nodding. He must have known all this already. He probably didn’t care. The Sioux Rangers was just one of the rival MCs that the DRMC had wiped out back then.
“I’ve got a string of strip clubs along the highways up here. All the roads north out of the city, 117, 111, the Trans-Canada, they’re my strip clubs that the truckers stop at.”
“I’ve heard about them,” Rose said.
“Oh yeah, what have you heard?”
“I’ve heard that you make girls dance against their will.”
“That’s correct,” Serge said. “That’s the appeal of them. We force the girls.”
“Where’s the appeal in that?”
Serge raised his eyebrows and thought about it for a second. “I don’t really know,” he said and winked at her.
She could tell he was being sarcastic.
“I guess some guys get a thrill out of it,” he continued. “It’s one thing to have a girl dance for you. It’s quite another to know she has no choice in it, that she’s there because she has to be, because she’s being forced. That’s the thrill my clubs offer.”
“That’s sick.”
Serge smiled. “Yes,” he said, nodding. “I suppose it is.”
He came over to the bed and looked down at her. She was frightened but she was also angry. She’d reached a point where she was beginning to care less and less about what happened to her. After what Fat Boy had done, she knew that anything was possible, that Serge might do anything to her, he might rape her, but she also knew that she’d already been through it. What new thing could he do to her that she hadn’t already experienced?
He was looking at her breasts.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she said.
Serge looked at her. He reached out to the zipper on her suit.
“It’s my job,” he said. “I have to see the goods before I can put you to work.”
She looked away. Was this really going to happen again? She held her breath as Serge opened the zip on the front of her suit. He pulled it down half way, just enough to open it over her chest and look at her ripe, exposed breasts.
He let out a whistle.
“Not bad,” he said.
She didn’t know how to take him. Was he trying to be friendly, to be kind, or was he just toying with her?
***
Most of the day Patrice sat outside her room on the landing. She could see outside when he opened the door. Her room was on the upper level of the motel overlooking the parking lot. Across the lot was a highway and then trees. Trees were everywhere in this place. She was so far from civilization, so far north, she wondered if she would ever be able to escape.
Patrice knocked lightly on her door before entering. She thought it was weird, pointless even, considering she was tied to the bed. It had been a few hours since he’d last been in the room.
“You okay?” he said.
She didn’t answer. It was such a strange question. Of course she wasn’t okay. She was a captive. She was anything but okay.
“Come on,” he said. “Don’t be sullen. I’m not here to hurt you.”
She looked at him. She knew she should try to be friendly, she should try and maintain as positive a relationship with him as possible. She knew that. She was his captive, he was her guard. He had absolute power over her. But something inside her resisted. She couldn’t bare to be friendly. After all that had happened, making friends was not on her list of things to do.
But surviving was, she told herself, and if she wanted to survive, she needed friends. She gave Patrice a thin smile. It was hardly a smile at all, but it was enough. He came into the room.
“I can turn on the TV if you like.”
She didn’t say anything. She just couldn’t do it. She couldn’t pretend that she liked him, that everything was okay. She couldn’t pretend that she wanted to watch television. She’d been raped! She’d been kidnapped. She’d been tied to a bed for so long that she didn’t even know how much time had passed.
“I could use some water,” she said.
“Of course,” he said. “Of course you could. I’m such an idiot.”
He went into the bathroom and came back with a glass of tap water. He’d loosened her cords but she was still tied to the bed and the only way she could drink was for him to help her.
He sat on the bed next to her and put his arm behind her head and helped her up a little. She leaned forward and drank from the glass. A lot of it spilled down her chin but she didn’t care. She was parched. She felt the water flowing into her stomach and giving her life.
“Is that better?” he said.
She looked at him and then looked away immediately. She didn’t want to make friends. She didn’t want to be a fool. She’d studied psychology in school. She knew about captives identifying with their captors. Patrice looked kind but looks could be deceiving. He seemed like a nice guy but then what was he doing with a gang like the DRMC?
He was just a little younger than she was. He was probably twenty or twenty-one. He had short brown hair that curled tightly. He was wearing a white shirt under his DRMC jacket. She could tell from the patches on his back that he was just a prospect for the club. He was still putting in his time, doing simple, menial tasks while he earned his way up the ranks to full membership. Being a prospect meant he still had to prove himself. Maybe the club hadn’t had time yet to harden him. She knew that the DRMC was a mean club, it was cruel and it hurt the people that opposed it. She knew that too well. But maybe this man, Patrice, was still a good kid. Maybe.
“You want anything else?” he said.
Maybe he was a good kid but maybe not. Maybe this was all an act. Maybe he was playing with her, leading her on, trying to get her to open up and trust him for some reason. She wouldn’t ordinarily have been so suspicious of someone but given the circumstances, her guard was right up.
“No,” she said.
Patrice shrugged. He looked at her for a few seconds before getting up from the bed and leaving the room.
She watched him leave. She had to figure this out. She knew her mind wasn’t working properly, she wasn’t thinking clearly. She couldn’t tell if she was being crazy for wanting to trust Patrice, or if it was crazier to be cold to him. Maybe she was provoking him. If he really wanted to be her friend she should have been doing everything she could to encourage it. She desperately needed a friend. He could bring her food, let her wash, let her know what was going on.
But then, how could she trust anyone in this place? After what had happened, how could she even be considering it. She should have been trying to come up with a way to slit Patrice’s throat, not wondering about whether or not she could trust him.
IV
Rose must have nodded off because it was getting dark when she realized someone was entering the room.
“Patrice?” she said, but as soon as she said it she wished she hadn’t.
It was dangerous to give anything away. What if it wasn’t Patrice? What if it was and he realized she was becoming dependent on him? He was just a prospect. What if it was the chapter president and he thought she and Patrice were getting involved? She get into all sorts of trouble for being complacent, for using his name like that.
“It’s me.”
Thank God, Rose thought. She was so terrified that Fat Boy would be coming back. It had been nighttime when he’d raped her. What if he was going to be watching her during the night again? What if he came back every night to rape her? That would be a hell worse than death. Patrice had been watching her all day. He couldn’t be on guard duty forever, though. Someone would have to come and relieve him soon.
“Hi,” she said.
It was strange. It sounded too casual. Why would she be saying hi to him? It didn’t feel right. She was his prisoner. He’d been sitting outside the door of her room for hours, smoking cigarettes.
“Hi,” he said and smiled. “I’m just checking to see how you’re holding up.”
She wondered what she should say to that. She hadn’t been let up off the bed for so long that she wasn’t sure if her limbs would move. She hadn’t been to the toilet since she’d been captured. Her wrists and ankles burned every time she moved.
“I wouldn’t mind using the washroom,” she said.
He nodded. “I was wondering how long before you asked to go.”
“I’ve been lying here for days.”
“You probably want to shower too.”
She looked at him to see if he was being sincere. As far as she could tell, he was.
“Do you think I could?”
Patrice looked at his watch. “It’s seven thirty. I’m watching you till nine.”
Rose could feel her heart pounding in her chest. She couldn’t believe that he might actually let her up to wash.
“Who’s coming at nine?” she said.
She was scared. What if it was Fat Boy?
“I don’t know.”
She nodded. “I really could use the washroom,” she said.
Patrice looked at her. He looked at his watch again. He was weighing it up.
“Are you allowed to let me up?”
“I’m not,” he said. “I’m not supposed to untie you for anything.”
“What do they think I’m going to do?” she said.
Patrice shrugged. “Escape, I guess.”
Rose looked at him. It was obvious she wasn’t going anywhere. Once he untied her she’d hardly be able to stand without help.
“I’m not going to escape.”
Patrice nodded. “Okay,” he said. “You can use the washroom, the sink, but you better not shower. I don’t want to get in trouble.”
Rose looked at him. “Thank you,” she said.
Patrice was surprisingly gentle when he untied the cords around her ankles and wrists.
“Okay,” he said when the cords were open. “You’re free.”
She blinked.
“I mean, free to use the washroom.”
She nodded. She waited a minute before trying to get up. It had been days. She didn’t want to rush it. She relaxed her muscles and moved her arms and legs slowly. They were stiff and as the blood flowed back into the limbs she got the most terrible tingling sensation. She moved a little and waited for the tingling to subside.
“Are you alright?” Patrice said.
“I’ll be okay,” she said. “I just need a minute for the feeling to come back.”
He nodded. When she thought she could, she sat up on the side of the bed and put her legs over the side.
“Let me help you,” Patrice said and stood next to her.
He put his hand under her arm and helped her up. His grip of her body was firm. She held on to him to steady herself.
“Thank you,” she said.
He nodded. He let go of her and she walked carefully toward the washroom.
“Rose,” he said as she reached the door.
She looked back. She hadn’t known he knew her name.
“I’m really sorry about all of this,” he said.
She smiled sadly and then went into the washroom and shut the door. There was a window and she didn’t want him to think she was trying to escape so she didn’t lock it.
“I’m not locking it,” she called out.
“Okay.”
“Don’t come in.”
She used the toilet and then unzipped her bodysuit and pulled it off her. It felt so good to take the leather off her skin. After three days, the tightness of it was beginning to become unbearable. She wasn’t wearing her bra. She didn’t know where it was. Fat Boy hadn’t put it back on her after he’d done what he’d done. She assumed he’d thrown it out. She was still wearing the panties, though. She stripped out of them. She was completely naked. She grabbed the cotton towel from the rail on the door and ran it under the sink. When it was wet she used it to wipe her entire body. The water felt so good, so soothing against her clammy skin. She looked at the suit. She didn’t relish the idea of putting it back on but she had no choice. She couldn’t go outside naked.
She cleaned everything. She tried not to think of Fat Boy as she wiped the towel over her vagina. She’d been forced to lie there for all those hours with the stink of him still on her. She checked the cupboard for a toothbrush and toothpaste but there were none. She washed out her mouth with soap. It wasn’t pleasant but it was better than thinking about the kiss that Fat Boy had given her. She washed her body as best she could and drank as much water as she could from the tap. Then reluctantly she got back into the racing suit and zipped it up. If there was a lock on the zip she would gladly have used it. She was starting to worry about who would be guarding her for the night. She was scared of whose horrible hands might be unzipping that suit in the darkness.
V
Patrice fastened her back to the bed when she came out of the washroom. She thanked him for letting her clean up.
“It’s the least I can do,” he said.
She nodded.
“Is there anything else you need?”
She felt bad. She didn’t want to create a relationship of dependency with him. She didn’t want him to start thinking of her as his girl. There were so many things she needed. She needed a toothbrush and toothpaste, clean clothes and underwear, deodorant, food, water, everything, but she decided not to ask. She couldn’t put herself in that position. She couldn’t let herself feel like she owed him something. He had too much power over her.
“No,” she said. “I don’t need anything.”
She lay there on her back and looked up at him. For a moment, the way he looked at her, she thought that maybe something had crossed his mind. Something dark, sinister. It reminded her of the look Fat Boy had given her before raping her. She was so vulnerable in this place, she had to remember that. Anyone could turn on her.
It reminded her that no matter how much kindness Patrice showed her, she had to be careful. She had to keep her guard up. She was so vulnerable tied to the bed like that, that anything at all could happen.
“I better go wait outside,” Patrice said.
She wondered if he was waiting outside to remove himself from temptation. Maybe it was difficult for him to have to watch her like that, tied to the bed. Maybe it was tempting to him to see her so vulnerable. It would be so easy for him to do something to her. It had been so easy for Fat Boy.
She shuddered as he left the room. The situation was dire. How could she survive like this? She didn’t even know who was going to be guarding her that night. What if it was Fat Boy?
Outside she heard Patrice’s cellphone ring. He spoke on the phone for a few minutes and then came back into the room.
“Serge, the vice-president of the Val-d’Or chapter, you know him?”
“Not really,” Rose said.
“Well, he’s on his way.”
Rose said nothing. She could tell from the way Patrice was speaking to her that he was worried. He was warning her.
“Serge is a tough guy,” Patrice continued. “He can be unpredictable.”
She nodded. She was grateful for the warning but she wasn’t sure what she could do about it. She was tied to a bed. All that Patrice’s warning was doing was scaring her.
“Just don’t upset him. He can be nice. Try to stay on his good side.”
Rose nodded. That was the game, it seemed. She had to try and stay on everyone’s good side while being tied to a bed and periodically raped by one of the guards. Not much chance of winning a game like that, she thought.
***
She heard Serge’s motorcycle pull up to the parking lot and a minute later he was on the landing outside her door. He told Patrice he was off duty and then he came into the bedroom. He didn’t knock first as Patrice had done. He just came right in.
He turned on the light to get a better view of her. Rose was frightened. She looked up at him, Serge Gauthier, the vice-president of the Val-d’Or chapter of the DRMC. He was notorious. She’d heard his name before. Even in Montreal people knew about him. The DRMC had been making a name for themselves in a big way, they’d wiped out most of the city’s other biker clubs about ten years earlier and anyone connected to them knew about Serge Gauthier. In some circles he was regarded as a living legend. In others, people spoke about him as if he was the devil himself. Rose had heard so many stories, shocking stories, that she no longer knew what to believe.
He was well-built, like a fighter, with the black leather jacket of the DRMC on over a white t-shirt and ripped jeans. He was probably in his forties but he looked younger. He had dark stubble, a shaved head and piercing eyes that darted around the room like a hawk’s.
Rose knew as soon as she laid eyes on him that at least some of the stories she’d heard must have been true. He had the look of a killer, a predator.
“I’m Serge Gauthier,” he said to her. “I’m VP here in Val-d’Or. I’m the reason you’re being held captive.”
Rose didn’t know what to say. She was terrified of the man who was standing in front of her. He took off his jacket and she could see the tattoos on his muscular arms and neck. He was a real piece of work.
“You’re wrong,” she said.
She knew she wasn’t supposed to antagonize Serge but she couldn’t help it. She’d been through too much.
“What did you say?”
“You’re not the reason I’m here. Rex Savage is. And one day I’ll slit his throat.”
Serge looked at her for a moment, and then laughed.
“Those are some big words from a girl who’s tied to a bed.”
Rose shrugged. She meant it.
“Well,” Serge continued. “I’ve never been a man to stand between someone and the revenge they seek. If you say you’ll get Rex back for what he’s done to you, I can respect that. And maybe one day you’ll even do it. But right now you’ve got more pressing obligations.”
“What do you mean?”
“The reason I’m holding you here is because you’re going to work for me.”
“I’ll never work for the DRMC. My father was a Sioux Ranger. He was one of the men you guys wiped out on Bloody Sunday, ten years ago.”
Serge was nodding. He must have known all this already. He probably didn’t care. The Sioux Rangers was just one of the rival MCs that the DRMC had wiped out back then.
“I’ve got a string of strip clubs along the highways up here. All the roads north out of the city, 117, 111, the Trans-Canada, they’re my strip clubs that the truckers stop at.”
“I’ve heard about them,” Rose said.
“Oh yeah, what have you heard?”
“I’ve heard that you make girls dance against their will.”
“That’s correct,” Serge said. “That’s the appeal of them. We force the girls.”
“Where’s the appeal in that?”
Serge raised his eyebrows and thought about it for a second. “I don’t really know,” he said and winked at her.
She could tell he was being sarcastic.
“I guess some guys get a thrill out of it,” he continued. “It’s one thing to have a girl dance for you. It’s quite another to know she has no choice in it, that she’s there because she has to be, because she’s being forced. That’s the thrill my clubs offer.”
“That’s sick.”
Serge smiled. “Yes,” he said, nodding. “I suppose it is.”
He came over to the bed and looked down at her. She was frightened but she was also angry. She’d reached a point where she was beginning to care less and less about what happened to her. After what Fat Boy had done, she knew that anything was possible, that Serge might do anything to her, he might rape her, but she also knew that she’d already been through it. What new thing could he do to her that she hadn’t already experienced?
He was looking at her breasts.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she said.
Serge looked at her. He reached out to the zipper on her suit.
“It’s my job,” he said. “I have to see the goods before I can put you to work.”
She looked away. Was this really going to happen again? She held her breath as Serge opened the zip on the front of her suit. He pulled it down half way, just enough to open it over her chest and look at her ripe, exposed breasts.
He let out a whistle.
“Not bad,” he said.
