Twisted Carnage MC

“Hey, sexy.” A burly, greasy-haired man twice my age slurred in greeting as his hand reached out, groping my ass.

Tonight was my fourth night working at El Diablo—a motorcycle bar—owned and operated by the leader of the largest local motorcycle gang, Twisted Carnage. Rumor had it, the man was ruthless, but took good care of his employees. Oh, and apparently, he’s hotter than sin. The other waitresses talk—a lot. I’ve yet to lay eyes on this elusive man, but I must admit, my curiosity was piqued.

As tactfully as possible, I pushed the man’s hand off my ass, but he immediately groped me again. It seemed we dealt with at least one overly handsy drunk every night who needed put in their place. With an eye roll, I grabbed his hand more forcefully this time, not taking him for a threat. Just a dirty old man.

His hand refused to budge from my ass despite my struggles. My heart thumped a little faster as I wondered if he was more dangerous than the other sleazeballs I’d encountered. A glimpse down at his leathers, I noted they differed from most of the others and I rethought my previous assumption.

“Let go of me,” I yelled at the man.

His eyes dilated, his grip tightening, as he yanked me to him. I ended up with my ass firmly planted in his lap. I thrashed and jerked my body, continuing to struggle, trying to break free of his hold, but he wrapped his arms around me, excitement and malice dripping from his gaze. A sopping wetness invaded my ear as he plunged his tongue inside while tightening his grasp, and my heart threatened to pound straight through my ribcage.

“Come on, baby. You want that tip, don’t you?” his menacing voice assaulted my ear, his revolting lips pressed against my earlobe as a cool wetness moved over my skin. A pit of disgust formed in my abdomen as he poked his tongue out, running it down my neck.

My body bucked trying to escape him. “No, I don’t. Let me go!” His grip was too strong, I couldn't make any ground. My heart sped up while my breath became quick and shallow.

A shiver of revulsion swept through me and painful memories danced just below the surface, threatening to overtake me in painful panic. A tingling feeling slid across my limbs and a whooshing sounded in my ears. My vision darkened, a dizzying sensation swept through me as nausea gripped my stomach.

This can’t be happening.

Not now.

Not when I’m in such a compromising position.

My chest squeezed and heaved. I couldn’t catch my breath.

Oh God. I can’t have a panic attack right now.

Not while my breasts are enduring his dirty hands, as he fondled and groped them. His rough tongue was like sandpaper along my skin as it traveled back up to my ear. The restraint and lack of control sparked tragic memories. Another life I’d rather not remember.

I struggled, fighting not only against him, but in an internal battle. An emotional war that could place me in even more danger than I was already in. With renewed motivation, I fought against him, wanting to be free of his grip, wanting his filth off of me.

“How much you want? Fifty dollars? One hundred?” He thrusted his hips against me suggestively, his pathetic excuse of an erection laughable.

“I want you to let me go,” I spat at him while he threw his head back, laughing.

His hand clamped down, squeezing my breast until a squeal involuntarily left my lips. My chest clenched tighter as my eyes darted around wildly, attempting to signal for help. His friends laughed, continuing to knock back their drinks as they enjoyed the show he put on.

Since I really need this job, I fought to gain control of my emotions, so I didn’t freak out and make a scene. I couldn’t afford to mess this up, but I wouldn’t be a victim again. I refused to let anyone else have that kind of power over me.

His tongue slithered back down my neck, and I shivered in revulsion. “Everyone has a price. Name yours and we can go out back and fuck.”

“I’d rather die,” I retorted with disgust, twisting in his grasp.

“I can make that happen,” he sneered, licking the side of my face before biting my earlobe. I grit my teeth in pain, not willing to give him the satisfaction of vocalizing how much it hurt. “Fucking your corpse won’t be as exciting, but you’ll still be pretty.”

He slid a hand down, prying my thighs open. With a rough shove, he pushed his hand between my legs, and I shuddered in pain from the brutal treatment. Lowering his voice, his words a threat and a promise, and if I couldn’t get away from him, I’d be in big trouble. “I will fuck every hole.”

“Let go,” I demanded, fighting with everything I had to free myself, his threats sinking in.

The scumbag squeezed my breast hard, drawing his face closer, moving in for a kiss. The taste of vomit burned the back of my throat, and I knew what I had to do. No longer caring about the job, self-preservation took over. No job is worth my safety and dignity.

As he closed in, I tossed my head back and then forward with as much force as I could muster. When my forehead connected with his nose, it made a satisfying crunch. His grip loosened. I took immediate advantage of his distraction and hopped up, running for the bar.

Not caring anymore about the job or what anyone would think, I pushed through the crowd. I needed to get away from him. I needed safety. I needed to get his slimy, disgusting saliva off my skin. Nausea rolled through me at that thought as I continued through the mass of people, shoving those aside who didn't move fast enough.

When I reached the bar, I briefly met the large man's eyes before blurting out, “Manny, I need to take a break.”

My eyes widened as I glanced around anxiously, making sure the sleazebag didn’t follow me. Not seeing him gave me a sense of relief and terror. Was he where I left him or was he waiting for me, hidden somewhere in the crowd?

Manny must’ve seen the terror on my face because he nodded to the door behind him, and I raced back to the employee bathroom. I ran the entire way, glancing over my shoulder as I made it to the door. Shoving it open, I crossed the threshold and slammed the door shut, leaning against it to catch my breath.

After I crossed the room, I turned on the water, letting it warm up. While I gripped the sink, I looked into the mirror, my forehead already reddening. With shaky hands, I reached up, touching the sensitive spot, letting out a slow breath of relief.

I pulled paper towels from the dispenser, and wet them. I squirted soap on the towels, using them to scrub my face and neck, trying to remove his scent and saliva from me. Once a prickling sensation burned on my skin from the harsh treatment, I patted it dry before turning back to stare at my reflection. I inhaled and exhaled deeply, closing my eyes, willing my pulse to slow down.

When the bathroom door opened, I startled, chastising myself for not double-checking the lock. I let my emotions and fears override my ability to think rationally. It’s stupid, and I left myself vulnerable. My eyes shifted to the figure standing in the doorway, the finest male specimen I’d ever seen. Donning leathers similar to the ones I’d seen routinely in the club, more patches lined his cut than any other member. I narrowed my eyes in thought, wondering what it meant.

Though maybe it’s best if I didn’t find out. With dark hair and piercing eyes, his muscles rippled as he leaned in the doorway, crossing his arms. Even through the scruff along his jaw, the muscles were visibly clenched in anger. Unease filled me as I continued to stare at him, wondering if it had been safer out there.

“You okay?” he asked in a low, deep voice, sending a thrill through my body.