Trace

2 - A hard decision

Fallon

I sit on the bench in the communal gardens, salty tears falling from my eyes and hitting my lips. I’ve been both dreading this day and expecting it for three years. Expecting it because they told me it was inevitable. Dreading it because it means I have to say goodbye.

I’m not ready to say goodbye.

I still remember that night like it was yesterday. It still haunts my dreams like a ghost in the night. A ghost that chokes me until every breath within me is fighting for survival. It holds me down with the weight of a forklift truck and has me screaming into the night like a banshee.

I haven’t been the same since that night. That night, I lost everything. That night, I watched my brother fall in a hail of bullets. That night, I hid like a coward to save my own life.

I’ll never forgive myself for it, and I don’t expect anyone else to either.

It had been just Scott and me for as long as I can remember. Our father left us when we were babies to join some silly motorcycle gang. Mother walked out on us when we were little kids, leaving us to the foster system. We were kept together, which was luckily for us. But we weren’t so lucky in ever finding a family who wanted us for long. A couple months here, a couple of months there. It was always the same. Until Scott was old enough to care for me himself.

And by that, I mean he kidnapped me from my foster home and ran with me, and he kept running. My brother could not bear the thought of leaving me there without him, so he didn’t.

We slept rough a lot those first few months, and it was hard. We moved around, stole, lied, and cheated to get what we needed. We hid under the radar all the time to avoid being caught. All the time, Scott was trying to locate our no-good father. I never wanted that. I didn’t feel like we needed a father. He didn’t want us when we were kids.

What made Scott think our father would care just because we turned up out of the blue?

A few months after Scott abducted me, we found a place to stay. Scott had managed to get a job that paid enough for the rent on a trailer. It wasn’t much, just one bedroom, which Scott gave me while he slept on the sofa, a small compact kitchen, and a tiny bathroom, but it was a roof over our heads. I wanted to go to school with kids my age who lived in the trailer park, but Scott said it would be too risky. So, he taught me at home. Homeschooled me, if you will.

I made friends with a couple kids, Remi and Zane. Scott didn’t like it, Remi and Zane being guys. He told me I should stay away from boys until I was old enough to understand what it was they really wanted from me. Those boys didn’t want anything but my friendship. I couldn’t give it to them because Scott threatened to hurt them. Yeah, he was overprotective like that.

As my older brother, four years older, I looked up to him and believed him when he told me it was for my own good.

But why was that?

It wasn’t long before Scott started to change; he got bigger, more muscular, stronger, and even more dangerous. It wasn’t until he came home wearing a leather cut, bearing the sign of an MC I’d heard a lot about, that I realized what he'd gotten himself into, where he’d gotten the money to keep us alive.

My brother had become a member of Satan’s Cutthroat MC. Not a nice bunch of men, let me tell you. They thought of nothing but fuckin.g, fighting, drinking, drugs, and did I mention fuckin.g? Yeah, they were vile pigs. I don’t even think half of them had heard of soap.

How did my beautiful brother end up with those assholes?

They never came near me, though. Thankfully. My brother, who apparently, was no longer Scott but Thor – Yes, I’m being deadly serious – had made sure those men knew his baby sister was not to be messed with. If they so much as came near me, he’d flip out and kill them. No joke, he meant every word.

And so, it went on for a few years.

It was a beautiful spring day when my brother came to me and told me he’d found our father. He joined Satan’s Cutthroat because he knew it would one day lead him to our dad. I wasn’t sure whether I should be excited or pissed off. I didn’t need a father, especially one who walked out on me when I was a baby. But I’d never seen Scott so excited before. I couldn’t rain on his parade when all my brother ever wanted was our dad. Scott never believed Dad walked out on us; he swore blind Mom had stolen us from him.

I didn’t believe that crap, but what did I know?

Scott told me that he’d tell me everything he’d learned as soon as he got home that night, and then he left. He hadn’t told me much of anything about our father, he didn’t have time. I watched Scott ride away on his big, bad motorcycle, not realizing I would never get to find out who my father was.

I shake my head of thoughts and wipe my eyes. Thinking doesn’t get me anywhere; crying sure as hell doesn’t. But I must decide what to do now. The doctors want me to allow them to turn off Scott’s machine, the one keeping him alive. For three years, I have fought to keep him alive. Almost every day for six months, I have been told there is no longer any brain activity and that I’m fooling myself. But as long as I paid the medical bills on time, they kept him going for me.

Scott is a shadow of the magnificent man he once was. Skin and bones in a bed that makes him look so small. He’s just twenty-five years old, too young to die. But then he’s been dead for three years, and I have just been fooling myself into believing he’ll ever wake up.

I told the doctor I needed a few days to make my decision. Dr. Volkov told me that he could give me that. Any longer, the decision will be taken out of my hands because he cannot allow this to continue. This is no life for Scott; he wouldn’t want this. I know that, but I feel like I’m killing him all over again.

I make my way to work. I can’t afford a car because all my money goes on medical bills for Scott. Not only that, but I also have to make sure I meet the payments for the residential home he’s in right now. I knew this was where it would all end when I agreed to him being brought here two and a half years ago. I just hoped it would buy me time in order to bring him back to life.

I work at Stilletthoe. Yes, it’s really called that. A strip joint six miles away from the trailer park where I still live, four miles from the home where Scott is. I’m underage, but they don’t know that. The age to work in this place is twenty-three.

Why such a specific age?

God only knows. But that’s what I was told when I applied for the job. I told them I was twenty-three the day I applied for the job. I wasn’t, of course, but fake I.D. comes in handy when you’re desperate. That was eighteen months ago when the club Scott belonged to gave up helping me pay for his needs.

Their President, Brick, told me as I was then over eighteen, it was my job to pay for Scott because I was an adult. Then he walked away from me and stayed away. Some of the guys visit Scott now and again, but most of the “Brothers” Scott worked with are now dead. Killed because of who they were and what they were.

I don’t need them anyway, and nor does Scott.

But stripping to get enough money to pay for everything is probably the easiest way to get what you need. Don’t get me wrong, I do not sleep with the customers like most of the girls. I’ve never needed to prostitute myself. Yet. I strip to nothing but my panties while dancing and flirting with the pervy old men that lech all over the girls, but I have a no-touching rule. Yeah, I get the odd guy who slaps my ass as I walk past, but it’s all part of the job. I make good money, very good money, so I have nothing much to complain about.

My brother would be so ashamed of me doing this, but I really don’t have a choice.

“You’re late,”

“I’m not late, Missy,” I tell my boss as I walk past the bar. I’m ten minutes early.

“It’s half an hour before we open. The new owners want words with all the girls.”

Shi.t, I forgot about that. Some crazy MC has bought the club, and things are about to change around here. Who knows if I’ll even have a job by the end of the night.

“Get in the locker room with the other girls; the new owners are already there waiting to speak with you.”

I nod my head and walk away from her. This isn’t going to go my way; I just know it.

When I enter the locker room, all the girls who work here are standing in front of four huge ass bikers and two really beautiful-looking women. My eyes lock with one of the bikers. He has pretty hazel-gray eyes, a chiseled jaw covered with scruff, and model features. He’s tall, really tall, and built like a God. My type if he wasn’t a lowdown dirty biker. I hate those fucker.s.

Judge me all you want, but it’s not like I have good memories with bikers. I don’t care if they’re not all the same. They’re all criminals in their own way.

He looks me up and down, and I roll my eyes. Typical biker asshole looking at me like he wants to eat me. Like he’s the first cunt to ever do that.

“And you are?” He asks, his thick arms crossed over his big chest.

“Fallon.” I look at the women in front of him, telling them my name rather than him. I won’t engage in conversation with him for any reason.

“Well, Fallon,” The dark-haired girl tells me, “I’m Tammy. This is Tessa. These fine men behind me are,” She points to the one right behind her, “Roman,” Here they go with their silly nicknames.

Roman is a big guy, very good-looking, exceptionally so, with the strangest shade of green eyes I’ve ever seen; he looks like he’s about forty. But I could be mistaken. It might just be all the shi.t he’s done in his life.

“My husband, Red.” She points to the man to her left.

I bite my lower lip so as not to laugh.

Who the hell takes the name Red?

Especially when your hair or beard isn’t red. But whatever, it’s his silly name.

Red looks to be quite a bit older than Tammy. He looks even older than Roman. Both men are handsome in their own right. Red is all big muscles, a beard, deep brown eyes, and tanned skin. It’s sad that he’s the clichéd biker.

“Then we have Tiger and Trace.”

Tiger is giving me the eye. He has no fuckin.g hope. He’s not as built or tall as the others, and he’s got scars on his left cheek like he’s been cut up at some point in time. He looks like he’s getting on in age, but I’ll wager he’s around my brother’s age.

Trace is the one who caught my eye when I first walked in. I can’t put my finger on his age, though. Not that I actually give two shit.s. But he’s so good-looking, so handsome and built. I wouldn’t mind taking a look at him naked. But I will never go there. Trust me.

I turn my eyes back to Tammy as she addresses the whole room. “Tessa and I are now in charge here. The club has been bought by the Snakes Henchmen. The MC, while they own the place, you will answer to us girls.”

“Each one of you will submit your I.D.” It’s Tessa, the redhead who’s talking now. A few of the girls mutter in disagreement. I don’t see what the problem is. Unless these women know a forged I.D. from a real one, there won’t be a problem. I’m the only underage girl here, so no one else has to worry. “You’ll also each undergo blood and urine testing.”

“What the hell for?” Janelle, mouthy bitc.h, total hooker, complete whor.e.

“Because we are fully aware of your extracurricular activities.” Tessa hisses.

“This is a strip club, not a whorehouse!” Man, that Tammy is a scary one. “You wanna fuc.k the customers, you do it on your own time, but you will not be doing it in this club!”

“You wanna work here? You abide by our rules. Anyone found in compromising positions with customers will wish they’d never met any of us.”

That guy, Red?

He’s one scary bastard! Kinda looks like a lumberjack in leather.

“From what your previous boss has told us,”

Which one is this again?

Roman?

It’s gonna take some getting used to figuring out which one is which.

“This one,” He points to me. My eyes instantly narrow and widen at the same time. My heart is banging. What the fuc.k have I done wrong? “Is the only one who doesn’t fuc.k the customers.”

Phew!

And he’s right, I don’t.

My eyes lock with Trace again, and he smirks at me. I don’t know why, but I smile at him. He's kinda cute if you can call one of these monsters cute.

Tammy is talking again, but I don’t hear her; something about Trace has me captivated for a moment, and all the shi.t I’m going through right now disappears. My heart is banging again, but this time for a very different reason. I can’t feel like this over a biker! God, but when he winks at me.

“Fallon?” Shi.t. I look at Tammy. “You first.”

Me first?

Oh hell, I didn’t hear a word she just said!