# Velvet Ivy

### The Nighthawks Motorcycle club

## Bella Knight

## Book 1

## Edited by Natasha Lind

**_© Copyright 2017 - All rights reserved._**

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**L egal Notice:**

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This book is copyright protected. This is only for personal use. You cannot amend, distribute, sell, use, quote or paraphrase any part or the content within this book without the consent of the author or copyright owner. Legal action will be pursued if this is breached.

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**D isclaimer Notice:**

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Please note the information contained within this document is for educational and entertainment purposes only. Every attempt has been made to provide accurate, up to date and reliable complete information. No warranties of any kind are expressed or implied. Readers acknowledge that the author is not engaging in the rendering of legal, financial, medical or professional advice. By reading this document, the reader agrees that under no circumstances is the author or publisher responsible for any losses, direct or indirect, which are incurred as a result of the use of information contained within this document, including, but not limited to; errors, omissions, or inaccuracies.

### Contents

Gift to my readers

Introduction

Prologue: Lies

1. Progress

2. Leaving Las Vegas

3. Blacksnakes

4. Girls and Rides

5. Confrontation

6. Confrontation with the Blacksnakes

7. Gain and Loss

8. Vegas Grief

9. Epilogue

Sweet Revenge Book 2

Afterword

Bad Boy romance

1. Cara

2. Trey

3. Cara

4. Trey

5. Cara

6. Trey

7. Cara

8. Trey

About the Author

# Gift to my readers

Click here or type in the url above into your web browser

Another Bonus Book at the end Velvet Ivy ;)

# Introduction

Ivy graduates from school and returns to the Palomino Roadhouse to her other job—being a legal prostitute at a brothel in the Nevada desert. Thankfully, she earns enough money at the Palomino to keep her daughter in school. She has plans to get out of her twilight life and into the light of the Vegas sun, but she may lose everything to a violent, vengeful biker. Can she hold it together long enough to make her dreams come true?

# Prologue: Lies

" _Lies tend to come out, in the worst way possible."_

Ivy sat on the edge of the bed. Damia was in a corner in the dark, the way she liked it, even though it was nearly eleven in the morning. She screamed if the shades were drawn open. She rocked as she spun a silvery top, watching it flash. Ivy watched her daughter rock, and wanted to rock herself. Rock back and forth, and pretend she hadn't walked in on Josh fucking someone else. Actually, two others. They didn't have an open marriage, so this wouldn't work.

She thought about it... really thought about it. Josh, her husband for the last four years, did something else he shouldn't have. He didn't listen to her when she said, over and over, that something was wrong with Damia. She was not being listened to. She got that, really. She herself, had been in six homes since she was twelve. That had been the way it was when her mom checked out mentally, and never came back. Being a foster kid meant no one really wanted you; you were on the outside looking in. Couldn't screw up, or you were out so fast your head spun. But not being listened to was getting to be impossible to deal with, dammit.

Josh hadn't wanted to pay for the doctors, or the tests. And Damia had gone stiff and screamed at each one like she was being murdered. It made Ivy feel like a terrible mother. But she'd taken her daughter to doctors before. Her foster mom had balked, not wanting to take Ivy and Damian to the doctor. Ivy remembered how she was transferred to a new home, and she was able to convince the guy —a single guy (first-time foster parent) to take her and Damia to a doctor. The pediatrician told her that is was a phase, that some babies were slower in development. He poked and prodded and said it was nothing. Not a hearing problem, or a failure to thrive. She transferred homes again, and she went to another pediatrician who said the same thing. She kept records of everything —every doctor's visit, including all the time she spent online trying to find out what her daughter had. Wait and see, they said. But she instinctively knew the doctors were wrong. They kept asking her about alcohol and drugs, and if she used them while she was pregnant. She knew she'd get kicked out of foster homes for either one, and she didn't want to be out on the street. The other girls did, but not her. She was seventeen when she had Damia, but she wasn't stupid. She suspected they didn't believe her.

When Damia was six months old, she didn't babble or speak. She didn't want to cry much, either. Peek-a-boo and other games made her cry, not laugh. She never made eye contact or smiled. She didn't mimic expressions. She didn't like toys or songs, or any games at all. Ivy scraped the money together for a child development specialist, but the woman wanted her to come back every week. Just seeing her once made her dead broke, with the all the various tests that were given. So, she gave up, until she met Josh.

She realized she hadn't met Josh. In truth, she'd set out to find him. She wanted a doctor —what kind wasn't important, but the guy had to have money and wouldn't balk at taking her daughter to the doctor. She'd just gotten her GED, and the state was paying for online college classes. She said she was going out with friends —a lie, what friends? No one wanted to hang around a foster kid with a crazy mom. They were going to kick her out soon. How was she going to live with a sick kid? So, she dressed up. She went out in a nice blue dress, black ankle boots, did her makeup, and twisted her hair up on top of her head. She found a medical convention at a Strip hotel, and walked in with a fake ID and a sexy smile.

The first doctor, Marvin, wanted her to go up to his hotel room. She knew what she was doing —she needed money, needed a roomie, needed first and last month's rent. She cried inside, but kept a smile on her face, even when he slapped her ass. He gave her five hundred dollars for three hours and left her with a bruised ass. But, she had first month's rent. She did it the next afternoon, and Vito paid more, a lot more.

Two weeks before her twenty-first birthday, she got a job as a checkout girl in a small grocery store. She contacted Joan, from two foster homes back; she knew Joan was aging out, too. They got a place so tiny that it held bunk beds, and a tiny bed with rails like a crib. Ivy took the night shift so Joan could work days. Less than six months later, she came home to find Joan gone, with all her stuff, and Damia alone and screaming. She fed her daughter and she knew that she needed another doctor.

She found another convention and managed to scrape together enough money to hire a sitter for the entire night. That's when she met Josh. He was tall, dark-haired, with a ready laugh, and a mouth full of straight, white teeth. He took her home and slept with her on his big bed.

She waited until he was pouring coffee for her at five a.m. before she told him about her daughter. She explained about being five minutes away from being homeless, and about being unable to work with her daughter. He had a big house and no time to date, so he made her an offer —a home in exchange for sex, and eye candy when he had a thing to go to. And throwing dinner parties for him, here and there, as well. She took the job, moved her daughter in, put her in a darkened room she painted a soft gray, and she learned how to throw dinner parties and be "eye candy."

At first, he couldn't see it. Even though he was a pediatrician, he thought Damia was just developmentally delayed. But, she pushed and, eventually, she learned how to create a pleasant party with no social gaffes. She did so by watching YouTube videos. He rewarded her by marrying her, and putting Ivy and Damia on his insurance. She continued working on her associate's degree online, in business. She needed to cover her ass if Josh kicked her to the curb.

At least now she had a name. Autism. Damia had autism. She (apparently) couldn't process her world, so she stayed locked inside the one in her mind. The round of doctors she was able to afford with insurance all said the same thing Josh did. Damia's condition was severe. Damia needed to be in a home. Ivy had been working her way up to telling him that she'd researched many, and picked one, a ranch halfway between Las Vegas and Pahrump, Nevada, in the desert. There were neuroscientists, occupational therapists, physical therapists, and all the other therapists she needed. It would break her heart, smash it to bits, but it was about Damia, not her. Ivy hoped he would agree to send Damia, due to being tired of having a kid. Or guilt. But did she want to stay? Her daughter was worth it.

Ivy was tired, so tired. Worry and stress made her exhausted. She had been stumbling around the now-empty house. She went over the last night in her head. She'd come home to prepare for a party, with Damia in her room, and the housekeeper watching television in the next room. The party was for ten guests, other doctors and their spouses. She knew how to match colors, and how to put out plates that matched. She took out the bags from the gourmet chef —stuffed artichokes, a tossed salad with julienned vegetables, a variety of homemade dressings in individual cruets, tomato and basil soup, fish stuffed with crab, stuffed pork, little chocolate terrines, and tiny bites of key lime pie. She put them all away, very carefully.

She went back to the bedroom to go to the master bath. The housekeeper was asleep; she checked on Damia, who was rocking and spinning. She took off her earrings, and stepped into the bedroom. There were two, carefully-pressed uniforms on the golden stuffed chair in the corner. They were blue, including scarves. The heels were carefully lined up by the foot of the bed.

Ivy watched from the corner. Now, they were both naked; she was on top, her sweaty body rising and falling, with her hair hiding his face. She had a lean body, a curvy ass, and golden skin. She was lovely. Josh didn't see Ivy; he was looking into the woman's eyes. The other woman was lower, under the sheet, and the outline of her face was hidden as she turned her face. A hand reached out as it stroked Josh's face. It was a hand with clear nail polish, not the same as the pink from the woman with her delicate hands on Josh's shoulders.

Ivy froze, wondering what to do. Should she clear her throat? Say something? Cry? Throw something? She realized she was —numb. And tired. Crushingly tired.

She used the bathroom down the hall, showered, blow-dried her hair, and put on her makeup with the little kit she kept in that bathroom. She went to heat the food; it wasn't completely cooked and would finish up beautifully in the oven. She checked on Damia again, and changed her diaper. Damia cried a little, then played with the spinning toy again.

Both women strode out in front of her as Ivy put the salad in a crystal bowl. "Have a good night," said Ivy. _Have a good night? Really? Why the fuck did I say that?_ she thought.

The other one, the one under the sheet, had raven hair and tawny eyes. Both walked on their heels as if they were born with them on their feet. The women looked at her, and Ivy could see the question in their eyes, _Wife or cook?_ Ivy decided not to enlighten them. She tossed the salad and put it on the table, and straightened the silver tapered candles in their silver holders. She turned, and went to find the silver serving fork and spoon set. The women turned and strode out the door, the wings on their chest visible. _Flight attendants,_ thought Ivy. Josh had flown to Los Angeles and back.

"Trish," said Josh, who held out earrings in his hand.

He saw his wife out of the corner of his eye, and nearly faltered, but he walked over as if he didn't have a care in the world. The one with her hand on the front door was pleased he had remembered. She smiled and put the little gold earrings back in her ears. He kissed both their cheeks. They left; Josh locked the door behind them.

Josh came up, then sat down at the kitchen island. "We have to get through the party," he said. "We're looking at a new pediatrician for our practice. We have room for her, and she has the capacity to bring in a lot of business."

She reached over to the refrigerated wine box and took out two bottles of white. She went to the wine rack and took out two bottles of red. "Of course," she said, opening the red so it could breathe.

"We have to talk, but later," Josh said.

"Of course," she said.

"Stop saying that," he said.

She poured herself a glass of the red, then swished it around in the balloon-like glass. "Damia needs to go to a farm specifically set up to treat her autism. I'll take her tomorrow to be evaluated there. I hope they have a bed available."

Josh stared at her. "I thought you wanted to treat her yourself."

"I've tried being a doctor, an occupational, a speech, and other kinds of therapists. I'm not a neuroscientist. I can't be all of those trained people. She's not happy. She's trapped in her own skull." She took a sip of wine, and then another. "She needs more, a lot more, and she's worth it."

"I knew you had your price," said Josh. "It seems I've found the price of cheating."

Ivy's jaw dropped. "I've been thinking of talking with you about this for a long time. I would think this is a better subject than your cheating before the guests start showing up."

"You're a hooker, Ivy," he said. "Not a pediatrician's wife. To be honest, I'm shopping for the next one. I'll pay for the last few classes of your associate's degree, and for one year at this ranch."

Ivy looked at him and really saw him for the first time. She'd fallen in love with him that second night when he took her and her daughter off the street. Such a kind man, she'd thought. But, he'd decided she was a hooker, and he'd married to make himself look good.

She took a breath; a deep one, and two more sips, small ones. "That's the most vicious thing anyone has ever said to me, and I'm a foster kid. That's hard to top. But, I accept your deal. I need to get her evaluated and see if they have a bed. Then, I must find a roommate. Give me a little time, and I will give you a pain-free divorce."

He stared at her, his mouth agape. "Only a hooker would be so cold."

She looked into his pale green eyes. "And if I burst into tears before your dinner party that's so important to you, would that be better?"

"You don't have a heart," he said and stood. "I'm going to take a shower and get ready."

"I do have a heart," she said. "Damia's got it."

***

She took Damia to the ranch the next day in the Toyota. She'd have to get something to drive. It was in his name. She realized mostly everything was in his name. She cried the whole way, wiping the tears away so she could see the road. She took her bag with the huge binder. The one with all the information about Damia from all of her doctors. She led Damia into the ranch's front door. The receptionist was kind and led them to a quiet room that was painted a blue-gray. It had a few blocks on a table. The receptionist had Ivy help Damia sit in a squishy chair, and gave her a ball with silver sides. Damia looked at it, and she turned it back and forth.

Ivy handed off her binder to the receptionist. A woman walked in and sat down. "My name is Debbie. I've been evaluating autistic children for twelve years. June will take you to the next room where you can see in through the window at any time." She sat down in a squishy chair next to Damia.

Ivy stood and followed June to the next room. It was softly lit, with a carafe of tea and one of water. There were plastic glasses and cups, and soft chairs. The walls were a soft, dusky pink. She poured herself a cup of tea and sat back.

Ivy woke with a start when Debbie came back in. She sat up and wiped her mouth. "I'm so sorry," Ivy said.

Debbie smiled. "You're not the first exhausted mom we've had," she said. "And, don't worry, our occupational therapist is in with her, playing with blocks."

"Thank you," said Ivy, relieved. She looked in the window between the rooms, and Damia was poking at a block.

"She's definitely autistic, severely so," said Debbie. "We just had a graduate. She's gone home walking and talking. She's years behind in school, but now she can be homeschooled. Damia can be treated, but it will be super-slow, in increments almost too tiny to see. We can see it, and we celebrate it, but it's internal celebration. The child will never thank you for it, or see it. The parents do, but the child can't see it."

Ivy sighed with relief. "Where on the autism spectrum is she?" asked Ivy.

"That's hard to say," said Debbie. "She has most of the autistic behaviors. Such as hand-waving, lining up her toys, spinning objects or wheels, rocking, staring at lights, tapping her ears, and repeating noises or single words she hears. She is not capable, at this time, of interacting with others. So, she's on the part of the spectrum where she can't come out and join us in the world. Our job is to get her out of her head and into the world, and that will happen one millimeter at a time, over many years."

Ivy realized that she needed work that would pay for this horrifically expensive school, and possibly for the rest of her daughter's life. She needed something.

"When do you want to intake her?" asked Ivy.

"Now," said Debbie.

Ivy simultaneously wanted to cheer and die. "Excellent," she said, calmly.

Something must have shown on her face. "This is a hard and terrible decision," said Debbie. "But, you're dealing with a medical condition that you've tried to treat yourself. How well did that work for you?"

Ivy was horrified to find a tear rolling down her cheek. "I can't do it. I'm not that many doctors in one person. My husband... we're getting a divorce, and he's a pediatrician."

"That's awful," said Debbie.

"He'll pay for this," said Ivy. "And I'll get something going in case the money stops." She took a deep breath. "Let's do this. What do I have to sign?"

"Drink some water," said Debbie. "I'll be back with the paperwork. Let's do a tour before you sign anything."

She toured the facility, then signed the stack of paperwork. Everything was gorgeous there. They even had ponies for physical therapy. The colors were muted. Everyone had to be quiet walking the halls so as not to disturb children who were oversensitive to the world. There was absolutely nothing institutional about it. The rooms looked like preschool rooms with muted colors. Students ate in their classrooms and were in small groups of six, called pods. They learned, eventually, enough social skills to interact with one another. They slept in very quiet rooms.

She left Damia there with the occupational therapist and went home to get her daughter's things. There weren't that many of them; autistic kids don't choose their own clothes or play with many toys, unless they are shiny or stackable. She packed them up in two boxes, labeled them, and put them in a trunk. She grabbed the classifieds out of her husband's paper, managed to choke down a sandwich and more tea, looked for roommate situations near the college, and drove back. It was the single most heartbreaking moment of her life. She kissed her daughter on her hair because she didn't want to be kissed anywhere else, and left her behind. Damia didn't even notice.

" _Lies tend to come out, in the worst way possible."_

## 1

# Progress

### Campus Life

_"Some have to work a lot harder than others."_

The last class of the day on Fridays was the most boring, business accounting. This was the most excruciating chapter, too —taxes. Business taxes. She pounded out Aerosmith in her mind to keep herself awake. Finals were coming up, and Ivy Had. To. Pass. To make things worse, it was a three pm class. She already had a full day of papers. Including studying, and two online classes, so much better than being in class; she could watch the lectures over and over until she understood them, looking up terms in another screen on her laptop until she understood them. The library was her special friend. She could study without her four roommates being involved. She only went to the loft to eat or sleep.

She took notes, using different colored pens and highlighters to keep things straight. Red for absolutely on the exam, blue for good information, yellow for homework, green for something she had to do, and orange for test dates or times. She also had tabs in her notebook. This was a result of a biology professor who made the students keep such detailed notes; she hated Professor Samchak then, but loved her tight-ass, now. Those notes had helped her maintain a 3.87 average out of 4.

Finally, the professor moved them into the project, a fake company spreadsheet. She sat with Wren and X. Wren was the typical nerd student, with a slight build, brown hair, and glasses. She wore clean (but rumpled) T-shirts. Today's one was blue and said, "My Other Vehicle is a Starship."

X's real name was Xavier, who was a football star that, despite his hulk, was actually bright. He wanted to run his own coaching business.

"Football scholarship," he said. "Third rate team. Not gonna end up playing for the Bengals." He was originally from Cincinnati, and fanatic about his favorite American football team.

Wren pointed out the blanks in the spreadsheet that was highlighted yellow. "This is what's missing." She pointed out the red ones, highlighted over numbers. "Here's where we're wrong. I've talked to the other teams, and we're the only ones getting these numbers."

"They may all be wrong and we're right," said X.

Ivy snorted. "Unlikely, but possible." She stared at the screen. "I'll take the top yellows, X, you take the bottom ones, our math genius Wren can find the errors in our formula."

"On it," said X.

"Who died and made you boss?" asked Wren.

"Do you seriously want to do it some other way?" asked Ivy. "I'm exhausted and hungry. Don't push me."

Wren smiled. "I like it when you get pushy. Okay, I'm on it too." They all worked until the professor called time. "I'll get my part finished by Monday," said Ivy, saving the file and closing her laptop.

"I've got practice and games," said X.

Wren sighed. "Since I'm the checker, I'll finish up, and you can check me."

"Send me a text when you're done," said X. "It may be three in the morning, but I'll run the numbers." He would, too. He was black, with braids, a slow smile, and glittering dark eyes that made the ladies crazy in the stands. But, he kept his head in the game, whether it be football or his homework.

Wren nodded. "Let's blow this joint."

They all headed out for food at The Bard Pizza, a joke for the English majors. They served fantastic wood-fired pizzas. They gorged themselves on a bacon and black olive pizza, then Ivy said goodbye. She locked up her backpack, put on a dark shirt over her black jeans, tied on the apron, and started slinging pizza and pitchers of Kirilian Red beer. She kept a steady pattern and a smile on her face, and pulled in decent tips. She clocked out, grabbed her bag, held her mace in one hand, and positioned her keys which were pointed out like Wolverine. They were like claws in between her fingers, just for the walk home.

She entered the loft and made her way quietly to her room. She showered, her own soap and shampoo carefully labeled on the highest shelf in the shower stall. Then, she fell into bed, exhausted. She shared a room with Staci, who was studying to be a surgical nurse. They had fashioned desks out of plywood and giant spools that used to hold cable. The beds were mattresses on the floor. Bookcases were plywood on bricks. The house was nice, a two-bedroom condo, plus loft.

Ivy was lucky; their room sported an actual door. Jatha got the loft. She was never home, and only came home to steal everyone else's food. Ivy had tried labeling her food, leaving "Keep Out" signs on her food, and even hiding it. Nothing worked. She finally figured out what foods Jatha hated, and bought those —peanut butter, pickles, mint chocolate ice cream, apples, wheat bread, and blackberry jam.

In the morning, Ivy was up early. She pulled on shorts, and a Guns N' Roses T-shirt; the blue "Use Your Illusion" one. She grabbed an apple and some brown bread with some butter and some ice-cold water. She took off for the library, backpack on, and gold sandals with a slight platform for cushioning. She found a carrel and pounded out two assignments.

She was able to get into a private study room where she recorded a segment for Wilding Girls of Vegas, a website for those who liked sexy things. She recorded a sexy story, complete with the groaning and gasping of simulated sex. She didn't get paid much, but anything would do to help her daughter. Jerkoff Josh had paid for the tuition for school, but not the books, or the apartment, and the tuition would be due in six months. She would also need cheap transportation. She researched it, and a hoopty was not the way to go. Cheap cars tended to break down and needed extensive repairs. They also sucked gas. She had her eye on a motorcycle; she'd get her license the same weekend she bought it. She had a way to deal with all of it, but it would take a lot of work.

Final exams were coming up, and they were no joke. She slammed out some studying, and left the glassed-in study room each day, and when her time was up. She hurried to The Bard Pizza; grabbed a salad, slung more pizza, sodas, and beer for the lunch shift. Then it was off to the gym where she cleaned the equipment on weekends. Thankfully, X had gotten her that job. Then, she would go back to the pizza joint, where she ate a tiny pizza and studied finance and investments for the exam. After that, it was more pizza and beer, and she stumbled home, with keys and mace at the ready. She always enjoyed a shower. She banged out the research for her English composition paper on "The Effects of Global Warming on Business." She used statistics to help herself into sleep.

In the morning, she was up at seven for a run around the track, then she worked on her scientific analysis class at the library. She made it to the quad for a chicken sandwich and a Coke, then her psychology course. She found psychology interesting. She was beginning to realize that people really didn't know themselves, and got themselves trapped in situations that they couldn't see a way out of. She decided to understand the traps she walked into, and that purposefully, you needed to walk into one to get something you wanted, sometimes.

She took a break at four thirty to watch a movie on her laptop and eat more brown bread, apples, some cookies, and peanut butter. The movie was for her film appreciation class; Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire made everything seem so effortless. Life wasn't a black-and-white movie, unfortunately. Then, it was back to the library until they kicked her out. The other girls liked to talk —bitch, moan, whine about their classes, and get upset about having to study so much. They also talked about boys and sex. Ivy had already been married and had a daughter; she'd grown up fast. These girls took college to be a continuation of high school. With giggling, dominance games, stealing boyfriends, and trying to get out of studying or doing the work. Ivy just wanted to get the work done and get out.

The library kicked her out, and she cleaned up the weight room again. She jogged home. "How did it go?" asked Staci. She was already in her pajamas and was painting her nails.

"Got the job done," said Ivy. "I'll write the report on the movie, now." She kicked off her sandals, propped up the pillows, and balanced the laptop on her knees and typed.

"You're gonna throw out your back that way," said Staci, standing on her toes. "Bending over like that."

Ivy shrugged. "Gotta get the work done."

Staci nodded. "Exams. Anatomy and Physiology, Biology, Adult Nursing, our Psychology thing. Shit, the math course is fucking killing me. I'm gonna die."

"You don't look like you're dying," said Ivy. "You taking a break?"

"I'm not a machine, like you," said Staci, with a hint of a whine in her voice.

"Get it done, and you're off for two weeks before you start your summer practicum," said Ivy, typing more quickly as she remembered the plot of the movie.

"Fucking don't want to spend my summer doing a geriatric nursing practicum! I'm going to be doing surgery, not actually talking to people!" Now the whine was definitely, more definitively clear.

Ivy made her voice soft, but strong. "If you want something, then you have to be willing to do anything to make it happen."

"You still looking at buying a bike?" asked Staci, working on the next coat of shell-pink, glossy polish on her nails.

"Absolutely," said Ivy, typing faster.

"Some guy's got a Shadow up for sale on the bulletin board," said Staci.

"Where?" asked Ivy, now focusing her full attention on Staci's words.

"West side of campus, near the psycho-psychology class! On the white board."

"Thanks!" Ivy stood, pocketing her cell phone, she grabbed her keys, mace, and slid on her sandals.

"You going now?" asked Staci. "But you just got home!"

"Need a bike," said Ivy. "Now would be as good a time as any."

She pulled her ponytail up higher, letting her beautiful hair fall down her back. She quietly shut the bedroom door and it gently closed behind her. Jatha was rooting around, looking for food. Ivy decided to have it out with her.

"Jatha, you too cheap to buy your own damn food? Either buy some, or pay us back for the fucking shit you stole."

Jatha gave her a flat stare, her gold earrings clacking against the side of her neck. Her copper skin flushed. "What are you talking about?"

"You fucking eat everyone else's food and don't buy a fucking thing," said Ivy, her voice low and strong.

Jatha shrugged. "I take a little here and there. Not much." She was tall but thin up top, her ass a little heavy. She had ebony skin and tilted, black eyes. Pretty, in the right light, but Ivy had no idea how she was passing her classes.

"Try! You fucking stole close to two hundred dollars of my groceries," said Ivy. "I'm going to college, the same as you. I don't have that kind of money to spend on your ass. Give me the money you owe me, Jatha. Then pay off every fucking girl here; you fucken thief."

Jatha bared her teeth "Or what?"

"Every fucking piece of gold jewelry you own will be taken away and sold to pay us back. Wanna give me your earrings now; you fucken thief?" Ivy stepped forward with a glint in her eyes. She held out her hand. "The earrings, you piece of trash."

Jatha snorted. "You ain't gonna do it."

Quickly, Ivy stepped in. She'd been watching X work out; he did kickboxing, a faster version than the one Ivy had learned at sixteen. She kicked Jatha in the stomach, and when she doubled over, Ivy grabbed her in a headlock. She took the earrings out of her ears. Jatha screamed like a banshee. Ivy pocketed the earrings. "See ya," she said.

The other girls came out; Staci, Rina, and Toya. "What the fuck?" asked Rina.

"Girl's not going to be stealing our food anymore," said Ivy. "Go to her room and get her gold jewelry to cover the cost of her food." Jatha lunged, and Ivy grabbed her in another headlock. "Move it," she said.

Staci stood, openmouthed, but Rina and Toya rushed up the tiny white spiral staircase to the loft, and they rummaged around.

"Get off!" said Jatha.

"Not until they have the exact amount you stole," said Ivy. "Then, you're getting your fucking stuff and moving out. You're late on the rent, anyway." She called upstairs. "You good?" she asked.

"Got a gold necklace," said Rina. "Got another one for Staci."

"Got two rings," said Toya. "We good now."

"Go in your room and lock the door," said Ivy to the others. "Now!" She watched Jatha as her face pouted. She heard the door slam upstairs, and a click of the lock.

Ivy let Jatha go. The young woman heaved, and tried to punch Ivy. Ivy stepped aside and let the punch land on the refrigerator. Jatha screamed in pain.

"Go on," she said, whirling Jatha around and kicking her ass. "I'm going out, and you and all your stuff better be gone by the time I get back, or it's going out the fucking window."

"I'll call the police," said Jatha.

"Go ahead," said Ivy. "We'll tell them about your freeloading habits, and I'll call the school and tell them about your cheating on tests." It was a guess, but Jatha's face froze. A good guess, then. "Go on," she said. "Or do you need another kick in the ass?"

Jatha said, "Bitch."

"Yes, I am," said Ivy. "Now, move it." Jatha shook her hand out as she climbed up the stairs.

"You are a badass," said Staci.

"No," said Ivy. "Well, yes. I just don't have the money or the time for thieves. Go in our room and lock the door. That idiot bitch might take it out on you."

Staci sighed, grabbed a Coke out of the fridge, and went to their downstairs bedroom just off the kitchen. Ivy followed her, took her laptop and all her folders and notes, and stuffed them into her backpack before shutting the door behind her. "Lock it," said Ivy. Staci did.

Ivy hustled over to the bulletin board. She used her phone as a flashlight, and found the white message. The bike looked good, and it was a few hundred under her price range. She called the guy.

"Jason," said the voice. "Calling about the bike?"

"Has it been sold?" asked Ivy.

"Nope," said Jason. "Just put the sign up today. Was gonna post it online, but haven't yet."

Ivy desperately hoped all the YouTube videos about bikes would come in handy. The ones she'd watched about how to pick out a good one, and how to ride them, as well.

"Want me to come over tonight, or tomorrow?"

"Now is cool," said Jason. "Where are you?"

"Right in front of your sign on the white billboard."

"Okay, turn to your right, go toward the science building. My apartment is the Gooseneck Villas, stupid name, don't even get me started. It's right behind the admin building. I'll meet you in the parking lot. Bike's parked right under the light."

"On it," said Ivy, and hung up. She knew the apartment building; the name was so criminally stupid that she'd noted it.

He was standing in the light, a guy with closely-shaved brown hair, with tattoos up his arms to his neck, in black, blue, orange, and serious muscles. He was wearing a black tank top and black running shorts. He was standing next to a Shadow; the motorcycle was all-black with silver trim.

"This here's Ranger. He likes to go fast. I wouldn't sell him, but I've joined the Marines. Hope to save up there to buy a Harley if I get stationed somewhere. Anyway, he's a real nice bike. I've kept up with the maintenance. He's been paid up, has half a tank of gas, and fresh oil."

"May I sit on him?" asked Ivy. She needed to know if she could touch her feet fully to the ground.

"Sure, but you can't ride him in sandals. You'll need motorcycle boots."

"Absolutely," said Ivy.

She sat on the bike, felt it between her legs. She adjusted the mirrors, and clamped tight on the brakes and asked him to start it up for a second. He did, then turned it off. She put it back on its stand.

"I'll need to go buy me some motorcycle boots and a vented jacket. The only thing open this time of night is Wal-Mart."

Jason scoffed. "My buddy Mark works at the Harley store, he's got the key, and he lives around the corner. If you're willing to buy boots and a jacket, he'll let us in."

"Good," said Ivy. She quoted his price back at him. "Throw in the helmet?"

He shook his head. "Won't fit you. I've got a big head. Mark will sell you one of those, too."

She sighed. "Okay. Cash now?"

His eyes bugged out. "Girl, you carrying that much cash on you, at night? You are fucking crazy."

"Tell me about it," said Ivy. "Saved up my tips. Can only withdraw five hundred at a time, and I figured you wouldn't want to wait several days to get it in dribs and drabs."

"Well, fuckin' A," said Jason. "Hop on behind me and we'll get your stuff for you. Let me text Mark first."

They headed out. Ivy loved the feel of the hot desert wind in her face. She learned how to lean into the curves and she marveled at the immense power of the bike.

Mark was a huge guy covered head to toe in leather, tattoos in crimson and gold on his tanned skin. He disabled the alarm and let them in the back.

"She's on a tight budget," said Jason. "She needs boots, a vented jacket and a helmet."

"And socks and jeans," said Mark. "Come with me. Let me hook you up."

She spent a little over her total budget, but she got a black, vented jacket for summer, new black jeans, thick grey socks, and a gorgeous pair of steel-toed leather motorcycle boots in black.

"Do something with your hair," said Mark, "You're not looking like a motorcycle mama."

"Like what?" Ivy was clueless.

"May I?" Mark said.

"Sure," said Ivy.

He took out her ponytail and handed her the scrunchie. He led her to the bathroom. Ivy handed Jason the envelope with the exact amount of money, all carefully counted out. He took it, went to the counter, and counted it out as Mark combed her hair, then put a little gel in her hair and began making twists.

"On my way to the bank!" said Jason. "Be right back!"

"Good," said Mark. He got tiny silver clips out of a drawer, and began putting them on the ends of her hair at the bottom of the twists. He used a little more gel to keep each one in place.

"Oh my god," said Ivy. "I look badass."

"You are a motorcycle mama," said Mark.

"Thanks for opening up for me," said Ivy.

"My store, my rules," said Mark. "Besides, you just bought enough to push up my monthly totals real-good." He walked over to the counter. "He left the registration," said Mark. "It's yours now. You both gotta go to the DMV in the morning to get everything copacetic."

"Oh, joy," said Ivy. "Thank god my classes don't start until eleven." The Vegas DMV was famous for long lines.

"You got a license?" asked Mark.

"Gotta take the classes on Saturday. Have to trade shifts with someone."

"Let me tell you what I know." Mark gave her a very quick (but efficient) rundown on how to ride a bike. They went out the back and locked up. "Put that bag of yours here, and let us teach you the basics," said Mark. "Let's start with my Harley. Here's the clutch." He walked her through the bike, step by step, as Jason roared back in. "You go by way of Pahrump?" asked Mark.

"Figured you'd realize she's a newbie," said Jason, "And want to start teaching her, tonight. Badass hairstyle, Ivy," he said.

"Thank you," said Ivy.

"I brought sustenance," said Jason. "Three chocolate shakes."

"Good man," said Mark, as Jason passed them around. "Now then, Ivy, what did I just tell you?"

The parking lot lesson took two hours, the line at the DMV was only an hour. Sometimes miracles did happen.

_"Some have to work a lot harder than others."_

## 2

# Leaving Las Vegas

### Arsenal's Return

_"Yes, life's one big road trip."_

Ivy swung her maroon-and-silver duffel on her back, a discard by a former roommate. Inside were three separate bags—toiletries, clothes, and assorted stuff, (like her hair dryer). It bounced against the slow-but-working laptop in her bag. Staci ran over and hugged her, nearly toppling her.

"Why won't you stay for the parties?" she groaned, as her lower lip stuck out in childish pique.

Staci stood back and flipped her sandy blonde hair out of her eyes. Ivy had received her business management associate's degree that morning, and was eager to be on her way.

"The road calls," she said, smiling, "good luck on getting your surgical degree! Hang in there. Only one more semester!"

"I have summer school!" Staci wailed, "lab!"

"And a job in data entry at the Urgent Care," said Ivy, "and yummy weekends at the beach."

"And a new roommate!" Staci pouted again.

"Maybe you can get some help with the glass," said Ivy.

There were five of them in a two-bedroom-plus-loft. Cleaning duties rotated; cleaning the glass wall next to the spiral staircase was the trickiest job.

Ivy tried to make light of the situation, "Pick someone tall with excellent balance!"

Staci laughed, "Will do."

They hugged again awkwardly, and Staci opened the door for her. Ivy knew that once the door closed, Staci would be on to her next roommate, her next class, her next boyfriend, and lose all memory of Ivy within a week or two. That was just the way she was.

Ivy made it down the stairs without incident. She opened the duffel and spread the bags around her saddlebags, then stuffed in the now-empty duffel. Then, she pulled the twists of her platinum blonde hair into a larger twist and held it in place with an elastic band, as she settled the helmet on her head. She got onto the Harley and headed off to the ranch.

Desert Equine was almost all the way to Tonopah, a long ride on a bike. She stopped for some dried fruit and water partway in, walking around to get the kinks out of her legs. Two men on big-ass Harleys drove up to the gas pumps with the Nighthawks emblems on their backs. One had gray hair, obviously Amerindian. The other was taller, with short-cropped black hair, a beard, and the movements of a panther. Ex-military, she guessed. She finished her apple and mango combo and her water. She threw them into their receptacles. Josephine, who owned the Desert Stop, recycled.

The black-haired man approached Ivy as she finished the last of her water, "That your Harley?" he said, pointing to her Softail in maroon.

"Yeah," she said, "had a bitch of a time rebuilding her. Some joker got drunk and ditched her, and his wife made him sell. Seeing his road rash, I got her drift."

"Bet you got a good price," he said.

"Yeah," she said, "but the parts aren't cheap."

"Arsenal," said the man gassing his bike, he had a Harley-Davidson touring bike. The black-haired guy had a black Softail, like hers, only with a lot more leather on it.

"Are you going to get us food, or shoot the shit all day?"

"On it," said Arsenal.

He held out his hand to Ivy, "Arsenal," he said.

"Ivy," she said, taking his hand. Her gloves had protected knuckles; his didn't. His touch was firm. He smiled, looking down into her blue eyes with his own brown ones.

"Gorgeous lady, may the road rise to meet you."

"May the wind always be at your back," said Ivy. She smiled, let go, and made her way to her bike as he made the door jingle going in.

"Sorry about that," said the gray-haired man, "Arsenal likes the ladies."

Ivy smiled and put on her helmet, "Not a problem."

"Henry," said the man, as he put away the gas pump and wiped his hands on a rag.

"Ivy," she said, "you Nighthawks sure do get around."

He laughed, "Arsenal needed a break. He's been wound a little too tight lately."

"Good luck," said Ivy, mounting her bike. She took off, and in an instant, she was gone.

Desert Equine was set in a little valley. There were horses, (very tame ones), and ponies as well, mostly rescues. There were goats and sheep and two dogs, —one with legs and one with wheels for legs. There were trails snaking into the low mountains and it was a beautiful place.

Ivy parked the bike and locked up her helmet. She stepped forward, and Bandit, (the border collie), and Jasper, (the black mutt puppy whose missing back legs were replaced by wheels), both came rushing over to meet her. She bent down, scratching on ears and, in Bandit's case, a long-haired tummy.

She pulled her running shoes out of her bag, took off her riding boots, and put the sneakers on, while the dogs tried to 'help' her. She stowed the boots in her least-bulging saddlebag, —a tight fit.

She entered the long, low, adobe ranch house and smiled at Jannie, Director Hiot's assistant. Jannie was short, with the bandy legs of a horse rider.

"The doctor is with the colts in the dayroom," said Jannie, "Damia is with the mustangs in the classroom."

"Building time, right?" asked Ivy eagerly.

"Yes. Damia's getting good at helping Yan construct a wall."

Ivy smiled. "I know the way."

She remembered to walk in a way where her shoes didn't squeak. She also took her cell phone out of her pocket, put it on vibrate, and put it back.

As advertised, Damia was constructing a wall of cardboard bricks with Yan, her friend. Leah, the occupational therapist watched them, as well as Nico and Don who were building another wall close by. Nico wore a helmet because of his frequent seizures. Ivy crept in, pulling the low barn-style door in behind her. She sat and watched her daughter, face crinkled with focus, as she reached for each block and piled it next to each one of Yan's. Ivy's jaw dropped when she realized they were working in tandem, each one putting in a block, followed by the other.

Very, very slowly, Ivy gave a thumb's-up to Leah. She got a slow one back in return.

Before Leah called clean-up, Yan and Damia began deconstructing the wall. They did it in segments, —first tearing down the wall, then putting the bricks back in the large plastic box. Yan put them in, and Damia lined them up. Ivy fought back tears of joy. Tears meant upset and upset was not good.

Ivy very slowly stood up and stepped to the side, as she was blocking the door. She looked down at her daughter's pixie cut, ears poking out, and hair as silver-blonde as her own. Topping it off she had perfect blue eyes that were huge and were well-aligned in her face. She wore blue shorts and a pink, cotton top, both in solid colors so the patterns didn't hurt the eyes, (or brain), of her child. Her legs, arms, and face were browned from being in the sun. She had put on weight, her cheeks healthy and pink.

Leah sang, in a very low voice, "Clean up, clean up, now it's time to clean up. Clean up, clean up, clean up now."

She had to help Nico and Don, and she left the bottom part of the wall up as Damia and Yan finished their tasks.

"Snack time, snack time, we all like the snack time," sang Leah. All four children filed past Ivy towards the door. Damia didn't acknowledge her mother. Ivy smiled down at her daughter, holding herself back from touching her daughter. Damia didn't like to be touched.

Leah led the way to snack time, into the classroom next door. Kim, the special education teacher, had little plates and sippy cups of juice ready at a low table. The food was soft and very easy to handle, —string cheese, dried apples cut into chunks, and sandwiches cut up in the shapes each child liked. There were diamonds for Yan, circles for Damia, and half-moons for Nico and Don. Ivy watched her child carefully maneuver her food into her mouth.

Leah came up and whispered into her ear, "Damia's progress has been stunning. She knows Yan is there and tries to help him, and he does the same. I think they've progressed because of each other."

"I am so happy," whispered Ivy into Leah's ear, "I am amazed. Don't worry. I won't cry."

She spent the day with her daughter, watching her do her chores, feeding carrots to the pony named Star, and learning how to curry Star. Damia rode a much larger horse named Desiree when it was time for her therapy. She obviously loved being on the horse and Ivy enjoyed watching them all ride before lunch time. At lunch, her daughter was learning how to sip soup out of a cup. Once again, Ivy had to struggle not to cry.

When they had class, it was learning signs, as well as touching letters and making words like "dog" and "horse" with cut-outs. Numbers class involved handling magnetic blocks and putting them on a large board on a table. Ivy almost cried again when Damia correctly pointed out the numbers on a line chart.

Dinner was extremely quiet, with all four kids eating silently. Ivy was stunned even more when her daughter began using sign language to ask for "more"— tortillas wrapped around shredded vegetables, cut into tiny bites.

Ivy read, almost in a whisper, a story about a hungry horse to the four Mustang-group children. Then, the children watched Sesame Street, with the sound so low it was almost on mute. Damia signed the letter "B" when she saw it on the screen. Ivy had to stop herself from rushing over and hugging her child.

Damia let her mother give her a sponge bath; she hated both baths and showers. She also let her mother help her put on her pajamas, some solid-colored blue shorts, and a red top. Ivy watched her daughter carefully fold down her covers and get into bed. She kissed her fingertips and touched them to the tips of her daughter's hair. She signed, "I love you," and watched as her daughter faded into sleep after another busy day. She stood a while, watching her sleep, and then silently turned to go.

Doctor. Hiot met her at the end of the hall, "Let's chat," she said.

They went to the office, one oddly devoid of much. There was a computer on the desk, but no pictures or diplomas on the wall, just cheery colors and some large toys on a low shelf.

"I am so happy you were able to come up and see Damia's progress," said Dr. Hoit, "she's coming along very well."

"Amazing progress," said Ivy, "she is starting to put on weight, and she looks very healthy. I love that you're teaching sign. And her work with Yan!"

"Yan's father is beyond happy. He says if we separate those two, he'll sue the school for malpractice!"

"I agree," said Ivy.

Dr. Hoit leaned forward, "She is as happy and healthy as an autistic seven-year-old can be. Now, I'm about to do something stupid and unprofessional. I'm about to level with you. She will progress, a little at a time. But, it will be slow. And, her autism won't magically go away. We think we are making progress understanding these children, but we have been living in the dark ages of the brain. Only now can we do scans and find out that these kids have different brains! We can move forward, but, Ivy..." she said as she reached over to clasp Ivy's hands, "you can't stop your own life. Your daughter is living hers, and she's doing very well. Go and do something you enjoy with your life. Find happiness."

"I just got my associate's degree..."

"Which was as dry and boring for you as a life outside neuroscience would be for me. You did that for Damia, not for you. Now, use that degree to get something for you. Something just yours."

"I... okay, I can do that."

"Yes, you can, Ivy. I realize this is very unprofessional, and opposite to what I normally tell parents. So many people are so shocked and stunned that they shut down. You were the opposite. You aggressively sought out treatment for your daughter. You did it. You succeeded. Now, enjoy that success and live. For you, not for Damia. Damia's been taken care of. Take care of you."

Now Ivy did cry, large tears flowed out of her eyes and down her face,"You are the only person that has ever called me 'successful,' especially when it comes to Damia. They told me to warehouse her. But, you're not a warehouse. You're not the hellhole of Vegas, sucking people dry. Just..." she said, taking an offered tissue, "keep doing what you're doing. Keep making my daughter happy."

"We will Ivy, I know we can."

She wiped her eyes and blew her nose, "I've got to get on the road," she said, standing.

"Safe travels," said Dr. Hoit with a kind smile, "and good luck finding your path."

Ivy smiled, threw away the tissues, and silently rushed out of the building. She changed again, from shoes to riding boots, and she fled into the night.

**_Palomino Roadhouse_**

Ivy cried more on the road, letting her tears fly out into a thirsty desert. _Maybe they would water a cactus or something_ , she thought. The desert air was warm on her face.

She turned, leaned, and flowed with the curves. Then, she flicked them away as she started to see the signs come at her for the Palomino Roadhouse. The Palomino on the sign glistened in golden neon in the dark, lit up from behind. She had made good time.

She rode past the parking lot. There were some motorcycles there and several trucks. She went past the staff parking lot on the side and winded her way along what was really a trail to the back of the building. She stopped and dismounted her bike before she came to her own private covered parking. She had bought and assembled the two-by-fours and the metal roof bent to make a curved roof that let the sand and rain slide off. She walked in her Harley and dropped the side tarps to keep it safe. She unloaded her bulging saddlebags into the duffel and went into a door on the side of the trailer, just in front of the end that was shoved directly into a cave.

The cave was wide but low, and it didn't take too much hacking it out with a pickaxe to make room for the butt end of Ivy's trailer. She had Di buy the trailer for almost nothing and ripped it out herself. She covered the walls and the ceiling in shimmering gold, silver, and maroon fabrics she bought on sale at fabric stores and yard sales and used more fabric to cover pillows in plush, with a velvety goodness in blue and gold. The floor was covered by a soft, nubby carpet in maroon. The bed took up the entire center of the room, round and huge and covered with soft sheets and blankets in maroon and gold.

Ivy got in the back door and walked into her bedroom. She took off her motorcycle boots. She moved the spray-painted, gold half-columns and slid back the curtain that hid her armoire. She hung up her leather coat. She filled the armoire with the stuff from her duffel, then stowed the duffel too. The computer she stowed in a bottom drawer. Then finally she moved the columns back.

She put her toiletries into a little basket and put it on the floor. She stripped, taking the little basket with her. She had her own minuscule bathroom hidden by a curtain with a tiny shower, barely enough room to stand up in, and a toilet and sink that were nearly on top of each other.

She showered, blew her hair mostly dry, and used her fingers to make the twists she liked. She came out and dressed in red silk boy shorts and a matching bra, a see-through red peignoir, and matching delicate sandals with low heels. Di would squeal about the lack of height on the heels, but she needed a break on her first night back. She put on her makeup in gold, bronze, and maroon, making herself look like a harem girl. She put her laundry in a laundry bag.

She opened the door into the corridor. The Palomino Roadhouse was actually a main building with various rooms, where little trailers dotted everywhere so the girls had their own rooms. The corridor was painted white with an overlay of pale gold to make it shimmer. That had been Ivy's idea. The sconces were covered in red cloth, giving the place the feel of a Moroccan hallway. She had built a false arch over her own door; the customers loved it.

She stuck her nose into the laundry room; it was empty. She entered and quickly separated her lights and darks into the various baskets. She left the bag on a hook.

She followed the sound of the girls' voices to the kitchen. Jazz and Thanda were eating quickly, shoving bites of burrito into their mouths. They waved at her and continued to shovel in their food.

Ky, their cook, and houseboy, gave her an air kiss so as not to smear her makeup.

"Ivy, looking lovely as ever," he turned, started grabbing plastic containers out of the huge refrigerator, "let me get some meat on your bones, girl!"

He turned and put on the kettle on the stove to boil. He put matchstick carrots, cucumber, red bell peppers, and little bits of shredded chicken into a bowl, and mixed it with some soy sauce and crushed ginger. He put the containers away and poured steaming water into a flat bowl. He handed her a plate, a spoon, and a package of hard, round, Vietnamese rice. Yummy spring roll shells. She drew one out, soaked it in the water, carefully maneuvered it onto her plate, smoothed it out, and took a spoon and put the veggies and meat into the now -softened shell. She rolled up the spring roll and popped it into her mouth. She ate four, then went to the communal bathroom to brush her teeth. She took out a new toothbrush from under the sink on the right, labeled it, and brushed her teeth, careful not to smear her bronze lip gloss.

She padded into the main room. Marybelle, Thanda, and Jazmine were lounging over various customers on the velvet couches, chatting. Thanda had herself a cowboy, complete with a belt buckle and string tie, which she slowly removed from around his neck with delicate fingers, gold nails flashing in the light. Marybelle was sitting on a biker's lap —a biker with brown fuzzy hair and a beard. He had his eyes on hers, and then said something in her ear that made her giggle. Ivy looked down and saw the hint of the top of a knife in one of his boots. They stood and left the room, her dragging him down the hall by two of his fingers.

Ivy hid her astonishment at seeing Arsenal by going to Dion over at the bar. Someone was crashing balls into each other in the billiards room, probably the other biker, Henry.

Dion came rushing over, "Girl, you came just in time. Marybelle won't be out for a while." He put grenadine and lime and soda into her glass, "The other one's in there," he said, gesturing with his head.

She sipped her soda and walked into the other room. Henry was methodically shooting balls into the pockets.

"Hey, Henry," she said as if she'd known him all her life.

"Ivy?" he knocked a ball into the corner pocket.

"If you get tired of that," she said, "I have books. And movies. But it will cost you."

He knocked in the eight ball, "How much?"

"Thirty bucks for as long as your boy Arsenal keeps himself busy with Marybelle," she said.

He snorted, "That won't take long. Let me get a beer."

She followed him to the bar. He got himself a bottled beer, then said, "Lead on."

She smiled, and he followed her to her room. She kicked off her sandals, and he sat on the bed to take off his boots. She pulled aside the curtain at the end of the bed to reveal a television, a DVD player, and a row of movies underneath.

"I got Easy Rider," she said, "and..."

"That'll do," he said plainly.

She found the movie, and turned on the electronics, and put the DVD in to play. She turned and approved of the row of pillows he had made to prop them up. She picked up her drink and went over to him. She sat down, then reclined. They sipped their drinks and watched Peter Fonda and Dennis Hopper. Then they both heard something.

It seemed Henry was quicker than Ivy getting to the door. Ivy hit the button to stop the movie, and they heard a scream.

"Marybelle!" said Ivy, breaking into a run.

Ivy burst into Marybelle's trailer. Marybelle was up against the wall crying, in most of her clothes. Arsenal was standing up, stark naked, his fists clenching and unclenching. Ivy grabbed Marybelle and dragged her out of the room. Henry spoke in low tones to Arsenal. Ivy dragged Marybelle into the bathroom, shut the door, and sat her on the toilet.

"Let me see," she said. Marybelle's right eye was already swelling shut.

Ky came in with a bag of ice in hand, "I've got her," he said.

Ivy nodded and ran back to the room. James was moving down the hall at a fast clip, "Stay back," she said, "he's ex-military, and he's loaded for bear."

She entered. Henry handed Arsenal's shirt to him; he had on the rest of his clothes, except for his motorcycle vest. Henry had a gun in the waistband of his jeans. He hadn't had one earlier, so Ivy suspected he'd taken it off of Arsenal.

"Want it back," said Arsenal, his voice low and mulish.

"Arsenal," said Henry, "you hit a woman. No one can wear our patch if you've hit a woman."

Arsenal was breathing hard, "Didn't hit no one. Was there... there for a minute."

Ivy stepped into the room, "You have PTSD?" she asked.

"Yeah. No. Sort of," said Arsenal, looking down at the floor.

Henry was pissed, "Marybelle's lucky. You're much bigger than she is. You could have bashed in her skull."

"What?" said Arsenal.

Ivy went over to him and looked him in the eye, "Did you think, 'Hey, I'm going to hit a woman now?'"

"What? No!" he looked down at his hands, "no! I musta fell asleep. Thought I heard..."

Ivy nodded, "You thought you were fighting with someone. And Marybelle was here and you hit her. Hard and square in the face."

Arsenal covered his face with his hands, "Didn't mean to," he said, "I didn't..."

"Come on, buddy," said Henry, "time to ride home."

He took out a wallet and left three tens, "For you," he said to Ivy, "and for her medical care," he said as he left a one-hundred-dollar bill.

"You didn't get the money first?" asked Di, behind her.

Ivy struggled not to turn around and backhand her, "Not now," she said. "you and James go away. We've got this handled." Di hissed but left.

They got Arsenal out to the bike. Dion came back out with two cans of soda.

"Wake you both up," he said.

Henry gave him a five, "Thank you, Sir," he said, "and, I'm sorry, you can come back, but your friend can't."

"Figured that," said Henry. He stuffed the vest with the patch into a saddlebag and mounted up.

"Come on, Arsenal, the road will do you good." Ivy walked back in with Dion as the bikes roared down the road.

Di was spitting nails, "How dare you!"

Ivy got in her face, "I got them out of here. I got the money. So pipe down. Doesn't Marybelle mean anything to you?"

Di's face went white, "How dare you say that?" she hissed.

"Then why aren't you with her?" asked Ivy, her voice cold but controlled.

Di sighed, "Because I thought you'd get yourself killed, is why."

"I'm a big girl. Take care of Marybelle. She's your responsibility!" Di glared at her, then whirled to go to look after Marybelle.

"That went well," said Dion.

"Mhm," said Ivy in sarcasm.

The bar and lounge were empty with just them, "Sit down, girl," said Dion, "I'll make you something special."

She sat down at the bar. Dion pottered, then sat a bright red drink in front of her.

"What is it?"

"Muddled strawberry, soda, mint, a hint of lime. Ky taught me how to make it."

Ivy sipped, and almost fell off her stool, "Wow, you gotta show me how to do that."

"You're not supposed to be behind the bar," said Dion.

"Fuck that!" said Ivy, "cross-train me. For when you and Barry are busy."

"Cross-train... now, there, girl, you may have an idea."

Ivy felt better talking to Dion. He was more than understanding.

The lights blinked, "Talk about busy," said Dion, quickly checking his face in the bar mirror, "that's Damian. He's picked up some boys who want a good time if you know what I mean."

"Yours or mine?" asked Ivy.

"Mine," said Dion. He hit two separate buttons hidden under the lip of the bar, "James can join, and Ivan can tend bar. Too bad. That boy could fucken rake it in if he played for the other team."

"You play for both teams?" asked Ivy with a cheeky grin.

"I know, right?" said Dion, raising his eyebrows. He flexed his muscles, and Ivy laughed.

Ivan came out, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His mesh top and black poured-on jeans were identical to Dion's. He pulled on a bar apron.

"You will be _working_?" he said, referring to Dion's other source of income.

"I hope so," said Dion.

Then the men were in the room, —a sandy-haired one and a blonde, both cut and lean. They both stared at Dion and smiled.

"Welcome, gentlemen," he said, coming out from behind the bar, "my friend Ivan here would like to pour you a drink. What would you like?"

The sandy-haired one smiled. "You," he said.

They laughed. Ivy sashayed past and went back to her room for a rest before the next horde showed up.

**_Arsenal_**

Ivy had just logged in, to scout out dead whorehouses online when the lights flashed.

"Damn," she said, stowing the computer. She put a peignoir on, —blue to match her blue, boy shorts and sexy silver top. She slipped on sandals and went out into the lobby.

"False alarm," said James, coming out of the control booth in a closet near the kitchen, "it's that guy who hit Marybelle."

"Is he alone?" asked Ivy.

"Yeah, but he's banned. I'm gonna..."

Ivy held up a hand, "I'll handle him!" She went back to her room, grabbed her leather jacket, and went back out.

Arsenal parked his bike, got off, and spotted Ivy. He walked over to her. "Nice to see you again, Ma'am," he said, "would it be possible for me to talk to Marybelle? Not alone. That big bouncer guy can be with you."

"Christ, Arsenal. James wants to break you in half. Why are you here?"

"Like I said, to talk to Marybelle. She deserves to know that I'm an asshole and that I'm truly sorry."

Ivy smiled, and held out her hand, "Give me thirty dollars, and wait here."

Arsenal pulled on the chain holding his wallet to his belt loop. He opened the flap and handed over a twenty and a ten. Ivy walked back in. Dion was rubbing Marybelle's back in slow circles. Ivy went over and knelt in front of Marybelle.

"He wants to talk to you, over there, on that other couch, while you sit here. He wants to apologize. He gave me this for your time." She held out the thirty dollars.

Marybelle took the money and fluffed her red hair, "Damn idiot owes me Donna Karan, not this crap."

"He does. And, if I can get him back to my room, I'll give you half."

Marybelle nodded, "I'll take his apology. But he's still an asshole."

"Yes, he is," said Ivy, and she went out to get Arsenal.

She noticed his leather didn't have a Nighthawks badge across its back. So, Henry must have had him kicked out.

Ivy sat him on the couch across from Marybelle. Ivy sat beside him. Dion sat down next to Marybelle, holding her hand.

"I'm real sorry," said Arsenal, his voice raspy, "I've been sober three months. Done a lot of work to stay that way. I have PTSD, from my time in Iraq. Doesn't excuse it, 'cos Henry told me drinking and PTSD don't mix, but I did it anyway. I'm an asshole, and I'm here to ask how to make it right with you."

"I want a Donna Karan bag," blurted Marybelle.

"Oh... okay," said Arsenal confused by the request.

"I'll show you where to get one on my computer," said Ivy, "come on back," she said.

Dion turned wide eyes on Ivy, "You sure, girl?"

Ivy nodded, "He's got knives in his boots. I'll just stab him with one if he tries anything bad." Dion nodded, as if that made actual sense.

Arsenal followed her back. She let him in and smiled at his reaction.

"Wow!" he said, "Henry said your room rocked, but this is really cool! Marrakesh style!"

"That's what I was going for," she said, "want some soda or water? Dion makes this strawberry mash that tastes awesome."

"Not right now, Ma'am," said Arsenal, still slightly awkward.

"Sit down," said Ivy.

She bent over to get the computer out of its drawer, showing herself off. He stared, then looked away. She flicked back the curtain and got the computer out of the drawer. She flipped it open and opened the page.

"There's a shop in Vegas that has secondhand Donna Karan bags. Get a bigger one, —black or red. She hates white bags. Gray is okay too."

Arsenal looked as she scrolled with her mouse.

She pulled up the website of the store; _usedtreasures111. com._

"Or, you can order off eBay or Amazon."

She wrote down the address of the ranch, "Send it here. As long as it is in good shape and is pretty, she'll like it," she poked around on eBay, "oh my god, this is a python bag, gray and black, with a silver chain and leather straps. And it is only a hundred bucks! Dude, I'll get it and send here."

Wordlessly, Arsenal counted out five twenties and handed it to her. She put it under her butt as she ordered the bag.

"It'll be here on Thursday," she said, "now, want to watch Easy Rider?"

"I hit your friend, and now you want to watch a movie with me?"

"You fucked up," said Ivy, "don't do it again, and we won't have a problem. You hurt one of my friends again and I'll remove your face."

"Remind me never to piss you off," said Arsenal.

"Don't piss me off!" she said.

He snorted, "So? The movie?"

"You got aliens?" he asked with an eager expression.

She laughed. She ordered Cokes and popcorn from Ky. Arsenal took off his leathers and boots and they propped themselves up and watched a movie. She charged him thirty bucks an hour. When he finished, she sent him off and informed Marybelle that a bag was on its way.

Another group of cyclists showed up, —a small club called the Iron Riders on a road trip from Tucson, fresh from a trip to Death Valley. They were sweaty and smelly from the road. Dion got them all beers, and Ivy asked them about their bikes while Ky cooked something up for them. They dug into poppers, cheese sticks, and sliders at the bar as if they hadn't eaten in months.

"I've got this thing I do," said Ivy, when they were two beers in and the food was gone, "I think a few of you would like it."

"Oh, yeah?" asked their biggest member, a guy with black, wiry hair and black eyes.

He had a nose that had been broken several times, and an easy smile. He called himself, "Hellcat."

Ivy slid closer to him, "You finish that beer, then we can try it out, Hellcat. We usually do it with each other, when you're not here, but..."

His eyes were wide and excited by her words.

She leaned over and kissed Thanda deeply. There was whooping and catcalling until Ivy broke the kiss, "...I don't know if you want to try it with us?"

"With you?" asked Hellcat, "all of you?"

Ivy smiled, "It'll cost you," said Ivy, "but it'll be worth it."

The guys had their wallets on the counter before Ivy could say more, "Two fifty. Each," said Ivy, "and you get one free beer each."

"Two free beers!" said Hellcat.

"Two," agreed Ivy, "and a night you'll never forget."

She had them put their leathers and boots on the chairs in the pool room, and she took them to the back. The girls behind her smiled when they realized where she was going. They all took off their high heels and giggled at the men's reactions when Ivy opened the door. The door opened into a room with showers and a huge Jacuzzi.

"Want some clean sex?" asked Ivy.

"Hell, yes!" said Hellcat.

He stripped right there and walked in butt naked to the shower. Ivy stripped down too, and she washed the huge biker from head to toe. He kissed her, laughing, his hands slippery with soap.

"Do I get to wash you now?" he said.

"Absolutely," said Ivy, kissing him again.

She stroked him as he washed her, and she laughed when he gasped as she ran the edge of her fingernail on the head of his cock. She literally led him by the balls to the Jacuzzi. She flipped the switch to turn it on, and they got in. She stroked him under the water, kissing him, and running her fingernails down his back. She pulled him out onto the edge of the tub. He sat on the side, as she took a condom out of a box on the floor and rolled it on him.

He came, gasping, as she mounted him, after only a few strokes. She took off the condom and took him back to the shower to wash him again.

Eventually, they all ended up in the tub, drinking beer or, in Ivy's case, Dion's amazing strawberry drink. The men chatted about rides, with Ivy asking about their favorite places.

"The Mississippi," said one guy named Razor. He was as thin as the blade he was named for, with a reedy voice, "They let us take our bikes on this barge thing, and took us downriver to New Orleans. Then, we took a ride over to Biloxi; prettiest city you ever did see. Thinking of riding back there again."

Hellcat nodded, "You know, that's what we'll do. The desert is... well, it's..."

"Gorgeous!" said Ivy, "all red and purple... and black and tan. The nothing isn't anything, you know? Rocks and Joshua trees and little chipmunks and skinks."

"Yeah," said Hellcat, "but, the river is so wide. And the people there, they don't look at you like you are crazy being on a bike. They just ask you, 'what do you want to eat?' If you ask directions there, they get you there. You may end up going the long way," he said, in a laugh, "but you'll get there."

Thanda broke into _Proud Mary,_ with her absolutely, perfect voice. Razor's voice was clear and firm when he sang too, and they accompanied each other in a slow version of the song. Everyone clapped when they were finished.

After that, Ivy got out towels for everyone and gave them all a Coke and a kiss for the road. They dressed and went out into the night.

"Damn, girl!" said DVI.

when the ladies were dressed and in the kitchen, and with Ky fixing them omelets, "A thousand dollars in two hours. I'm going to have to call this the 'Clean Sex Special!'"

"You do that," said Ivy, "wake up the others. I'm going to bed."

"I heard that!" said Thanda, "I need sleep too you know!"

_"Yes, life's one big road trip."_

**_Damia Visit_**

Ivy took a while to recover; she was exhausted. Luckily, she came out for a few viewings. She sat around eating pasta with cream sauce and Italian sausage, and brown bread cooked with chunks of cheese and olives.

"Ky," she said, the butter melting into perfection on the bread. "Seriously. You need to be on one of those cooking shows, or working for some big chef on one of those cooking shows. Or work for a famous Las Vegas chef."

"Screw that, girlfriend," said Ky. "First of all, those chefs are famous for firing people at a moment's notice. Worked for two of them. Secondly, they pay diddly and squat. And, three, I get to see a parade of men coming by every fucking night... and some of them are gay. Sometimes, I let Dion talk me into a three-way, so I get some."

"Don't you want a boyfriend?" asked Ivy.

"Hell, no, not now. I wanna save up my money and get something nice. Nice apartment with a pool, get what I'm downloading to you? Fine job, fine threads. Then, finding me a man is one-two-three!" He snapped his fingers three times, back and forth. "What about you, girl?"

"Maybe," said Ivy, sipping her strawberry mash drink.

"That's real specific," said Ky, making Ivy laugh. "Eat up, girl. I know you'll be hitting the road in about..." He looked at the digits on the microwave. "Two hours. I'll give you a box with a sandwich made out of this beautiful bread, and some drinks for the road."

"You are so fucking good to me," said Ivy, leaning forward and kissing Ky on the cheek.

"Anytime, anywhere," said Ky.

Ivy sighed internally when a cowboy chose her. She took him for the Clean Sex Special, which got the stink of horse and road off him. She was relieved that he primarily wanted her to jack him off. After that she had to get into it with Thanda. Thanda just laughed; she wanted to pay for college for her children. Ivy could understand that, so she did a lot of sizzle without a lot of actual sex. The cowboy left a sizable amount of cash, and Ivy gave Thanda her share, then set about putting her hair back right again.

"You going to see your daughter?" asked Thanda, blow-drying her own hair. They were both still naked in the powder room next to the shower/Jacuzzi setup.

"In about fifteen minutes," said Ivy.

"Get moving, girl," said Thanda. "Di will ignore your days off if she can."

"Why do you think I get the fuck out of here when I can?" asked Ivy, twisting the last twist and putting in the silver clip on the bottom.

She dusted on some makeup, then reached for a pink silk robe with ivy vines going down the sleeves. "Bye now," she said.

"Have fun," said Thanda. "I'll be seeing my kids in two days."

"Good luck with that," said Ivy. She left the bathroom, slipped on the pink slippers in the hallway, and swung by the kitchen.

Ky was making banana-nut muffins that smelled heavenly. "Sit down, girl," said Ky. He broke open a muffin and slathered it with butter. "Here's a Coke, too. Fuel you up for your travels."

"You rock," said Ivy, sitting down and shoving a piece of muffin in her mouth. "Holy shit," she said. "This is awesome."

Thanda came out and sat. "One for me too, Chef Man," she said. Ky smiled and plated one for her.

Ivy wolfed hers down, licking butter off her fingers. "Careful, girl," said Ky, handing her a wet wipe, "you'll choke."

She grabbed her unopened can of Coke —a half-sized, baby one. She popped it, downed it, crushed the can in her hand, and threw a three-pointer into the recycling bin.

"Shit, girl, you on fire," said Ky. Thanda laughed. Ivy waved goodbye and hurried to her room. Her fifteen minutes were up.

She hit the road, saddlebags full. One with her clothes and toiletries, and the drinks and her lunch in the other. She put on her helmet, and peeled out on her brand-new Harley she'd recently purchased; client wanted to sell his Harley. He was willing to take the Shadow and a wad of cash. It needed work, but it cleaned up beautifully; black with a hint of maroon. Ivy opened her up; the machine was a beast on the road.

She pulled over at a rest stop and ate the sandwiches and drank the Coke, just shy of the ranch. She rode up to the ranch, and parked her bike under the dubious shade of a palm tree before she entered. She smiled at the receptionist, and she was escorted to June Silver's room, one of Damia's occupational therapists. Ivy just stood in the doorway.

Damia was a picture-perfect child, with blonde hair in waves, cut to just above her neck. Most autistic children hated to have their hair brushed for more than a few strokes. Her eyes were Ivy's blue, with a hint of green around the edges. But, she was locked in her own brain, unable to interact with the world around her.

She was working with a large ball; the therapist helping her push and kick it. Ivy saw the moment where Damia shut down, her eyes shuttering closed. The therapist smiled, then shoved the ball out of the way and put it on its ring so it didn't roll. She took out three balls; one silver, one metallic-crimson, and one a reflective, midnight-blue. She put them on a table, picked one up, and put it down. Damia, attracted by the shininess, picked up the balls and put them down, confused about which one to choose.

Ivy came in silently and sat cross-legged on the floor. The therapist rolled the balls around with a flat palm, and Damia imitated it. Ivy was stunned; getting Damia to imitate anything was amazing, a truly enormous step forward. Ivy held her fingers to her lips, trying not to cry.

They switched to putting shiny rings on a wooden pole, and then simple walking around the room, all while the therapist juggled the silver balls. Damia sat on the floor, and the therapist rolled the balls to her, one by one. Damia actually rolled the red one back. Ivy fought the tears. It was amazing... absolutely amazing, to see Damia work with anyone. Damia made a sign. Ivy had read every email from Dr. Hoit, the director, and one of them said to learn sign language. The sign was for "hungry." Ivy stifled her gasp. Her daughter was communicating!

Ivy followed Damia and June to the next classroom. Damia sat, and received a box of cut-up fruit, vegetables and tiny sandwiches. Damia ate and washed her face and hands when reminded. Then, it was time for the bathroom, and the ponies out back.

Damia rode like a sack of potatoes, but the gray pony didn't seem to care. The animal therapy specialist walked her slowly around the ring, one hand on her arm, forcing Damia to hold the reins, and the other on Damia's leg. Damia slumped over the pony's neck, her orange safety hat standing out against the pony's gray mane.

Math class used manipulatives, where Damia moved blocks and balls around. First counting, then adding and subtracting them. Damia signed that she was thirsty, so she got a sippy cup of juice. English was singing letters and numbers, and using cards to make sentences. The teacher helped Damia make sentences about cats and dogs, and horses.

Damia put four words together herself, "My horse is small." Ivy put two fingers on her lips, trying not to cry.

There was time in physical therapy. Damia was being taught to walk heel-to-toe, rather than on her tippy toes. She walked in between parallel bars. Then, the therapist put down recycled paper between two parallel bars, took off Damia's boots and socks, and painted her feet with red paint. She helped her walk, heel-to-toe, to make a clear imprint on the paper. Damia reached the end, turned around, and carefully walked over her first imprints. These helped make new ones going the other way, heel-to-toe. The therapist had Damia sit down. She changed the paper, and then let her walk again. Damia made noises, and made the sign for "happy." Ivy let the tears fall, then wiped them away with the tips of her fingers.

The therapist wiped her feet, and Damia had a meltdown. Ivy came to her, talked to her, and listened to her scream. Then, the therapist came over with a shiny ball, and the behavior was forgotten. The therapist had her change the ball from one hand to another while walking heel-to-toe. Then, there was a juice and snack break. Afterward, Damia learned a jumping game, from one square to another, and how to pick up the shiny ball, throw it into the next square, jump, and pick it up again.

Damia got more juice, then it was time for a walk before dinner. Ivy followed and was amazed when Damia struggled to walk heel-to-toe. Then there was dinner, with more fruit and veggies, and a cup of pasta. Ivy had pasta as well, and juice. Then, it was time for a shower and sleep.

Ivy led her daughter to her room. It was pretty, in soft purple and gray hues. Ivy helped her daughter with the shower, and made sure she used the restroom and brushed her teeth. She took her back into her room. Ivy read her daughter a story about a pony and kissed the tips of her hair.

Doctor Hoit was waiting for her when she was done. "How did your visit go?" she asked.

"She actually communicated," said Ivy. "She had one screaming fit, but that's one from the time I arrived to when she went to bed."

She took a deep breath, the tears now running down her cheeks. Dr. Hoit handed her a tissue, and Ivy stared at the diploma on the wall and wiped her eyes.

She looked back at Dr. Hoit, her green eyes gentle. "Sorry," she said.

"Never apologize for being a good mother," said Dr. Hoit. "You do realize you are a good mom? Lots of people drop off their kids here, and fly off to Tahoe."

Ivy flinched. "What the... why?"

"Taking care of severely autistic kids is exhausting. And, after years of work, some kids get better, and others stay the same. Some parents are able to do the intensive work. But only usually two-parent families, where they have the time to devote to their children." She raised her hand, palm out. "Please, under no circumstances, think I'm maligning you for being single. The point is, you're not the entire staff we have here." She sighed. "I wish we didn't have a waiting list, and that we could service more children. I also wish that we could afford to have parents pay on a sliding scale. But, enough of my problems."

"I see what you mean," said Ivy.

Doctor Hoit took a deep breath. "Damia is doing well. She has a long way to go, of course, but she is progressing. Baby steps with autism, baby steps."

"Thank you, Doctor," said Ivy.

"Will you be here tomorrow?" asked Dr. Hoit.

"Yes," said Ivy. She had it all lined up. A client, back over the line in the correct county.

A side journey, three thousand for one night in silk sheets. _Anything for Damia,_ she thought. Separating her job from this beautiful ranch that was trying to make her daughter better was important, now more than ever.

"I'll have the fees, but about two weeks late, I think."

Dr. Hoit smiled. "Let's give you a slight discount, and have you in on time, shall we?"

Ivy smiled, relieved. "That would be fantastic." The late penalties were enormous, probably to keep well-heeled parents from paying whenever they felt like it.

"How much are you short?" asked the doctor.

Ivy did a quick calculation and told the woman. "Not much of a discount at all," said Dr. Hoit. "Only a few percent. Good. So, do you have any more questions for me?"

Ivy shook her head. "What you're doing is working. Please keep doing it."

Dr. Hoit smiled, then adjusted her lab coat over her deep blue scrubs. Ivy could imagine the elegant woman in a suit, with diamonds dripping from her ears, in her mind's eye. The good doctor had elegant features.

"Goodnight, Ivy."

"Goodnight," said Ivy, and went out to the bike. She ate at a waffle house on the way.

She filled up on pecan waffles, crispy bacon, some fries, and a Coke. She had a long night ahead, and she needed the fuel. The client had a big ranch out in the middle of nowhere. It had wood and leather furniture, wooden walls, a huge fireplace, and alpaca rugs in white, brown, and black.

He greeted her at the door as she was stowing her helmet under the seat of her Harley. Ray Thackery was a big man, with ropy muscles, a slight paunch, a mustache, grizzled features, and brown hair fading to gray. He had her Cokes in a silver ice bucket.

"Wife's in Tahoe," he said. He handed her an envelope. "It's all there."

She opened it, did a quick count, and put it back. "Thanks, Ray," she said. She slipped it in the pocket of her leather jacket.

She took off the jacket and laid it on a fat, caramel, leather chair. She slid off her boots and soft socks and left them under the chair. She turned to him, smiled, and kissed him. He'd already started into the beer. The high-class beer was still beer. She took a key and popped the top off a Coke. She drank deeply, put it down on a silver coaster on a side table, and kissed him again. She kissed him lightly, slowly, teasing him. He laughed.

"Woman, we got all night. You don't have to tease."

"Why not?" asked Ivy. "It's fun." She reached up, undid his string tie. She carefully laid it on the table, and then unbuttoned some of his buttons, one at a time. He laughed again and took a swig of his expensive beer.

"Ivy," he said. "Girl, you know how to make a man feel twenty years younger."

"What were you doing twenty years ago?" she asked, taking a swig of her Coke.

"I was riding horses. My dad, that son-of-a-bitch, may he not rest in peace at all, owned this spread. He wanted me fixing fences, not running the ranch. He and his foreman, Ernesto. This man was as tough as leather and had a mind that couldn't see anything other than the right now. Ernesto was just like him." He took another swig of beer, lost in memory. "Then Dad was in an accident; he was drinking, and so was the asshole riding down the road in the middle of the night. Head-on collision. Everybody died, even that son-of-a-bitch, Ernesto. No one thought a twenty-six-year-old guy could give this ranch a go, but I showed them. Married the girl on the next spread, doubled the size of our holdings. Sheila's in Tahoe with her boyfriend; we don't want to divorce and split the ranch. It's our favorite place to work. She has her own house on the other side of the property, comes here when we need to look good."

_That's the longest I've ever heard him talk_ , thought Ivy. "So, life is good?"

"Well, sure," said Ray. "Good enough. We're one of the few ranches around here to make any money. But neighbors, most of them are gone, gone, gone. Didn't want to buy their land. Rather they stayed. Good people, most of 'em."

"Why not start a fund to help people keep family farms?" she asked.

"Strange hooker," said Ray. "Most of you would try to get me to keep my money, more to spend on you."

"I figure you've got enough for both," said Ivy, and she put her Coke down. She walked forward and kissed him, then smiled.

"You are a fine woman," said Ray. "I apologize for calling you a hooker. Why the hell are you doing this?"

"Very simple," said Ivy. "I've got someone more important than me."

Ray nodded once. "We couldn't have any of that with us," he said.

She sighed. "So, adopt."

"I'm too fucking old," said Ray.

"Let me prove you're not," said Ivy.

She had his clothes off in just a few minutes, then she rolled on a condom after grabbing a towel from the bathroom just off the main room. Then she rode him there, on the alpaca rug, with the towel under them. She took it easy and slow, kissing and biting him until he groaned and came so explosively it actually surprised her. She used the towel to clean them both up. She took the condom to the trash, then led him to the shower for more clean sex.

In the morning, she ate the eggs, bacon, and toast Ray cooked for her, and she took two Cokes with her and the bottle opener as he drank his breakfast in the form of a Bloody Mary. She thanked him for the breakfast and kissed him goodbye. Ivy hit up an ATM in the tiny town where he lived. She deposited the cash and went to see Damia again.

This time, Damia was wearing a gray shirt and purple shorts, and she learned to jump in and out of a hula hoop, and how to spin one around her body. She loved the spinning. She asked for water specifically, saying "thirsty" and "water." Ivy went out to get her the sippy cup with Damia's name on it from the refrigerator. She brought it back to the classroom for her daughter. Damia also rolled the big ball and rolled smaller balls on the floor.

The science lesson was a craft, putting together a 3D flower puzzle. It was made of rubber so Damia wouldn't hurt herself. It was simple, and Damia successfully put it together. Then, she put together a dog, a cow, a pig, and a pony. The teacher talked about each animal in a quiet voice and did the sign language at the same. Damia correctly identified the dog and the pony in sign language. Once again, Ivy was trying not to cry. Damia was progressing, far more than she ever did in those long, lonely years when no one would listen to a teenager with a sick baby.

Ivy went from class to class, lunch to dinner, forgetting to eat herself, until the teachers fed her. She ate chicken and rice for lunch, grilled cheese, and tomato soup for dinner. She helped her daughter bathe, to read her a story, and then always kissed her hair. Then, she was on the road, back to see Ray. Hopefully, to have another night to buy her daughter what she needed. Those perfect eyes, blue with the green ring around the outside. Those eyes were what drove her to do whatever she needed to do. _For Damia_ , she thought, as she turned her bike toward one more night with Ray.

_"Yes, life's one big road trip."_

## 3

# Blacksnakes

### Arsenal's Return

_"Some secrets need sharing; they're like a razor blade inside until they are removed. Painfully. Without anesthesia."_

Arsenal came back on Thursday night. Ivy went out to meet him and smiled up at him as he put away his helmet. "Here to watch another movie?"

He looked down into her eyes. "I couldn't stop thinking about you," he said. "You work here," he said, gesturing toward the front door. "I told myself that it would be stupid to date a woman that works here. But, then I thought, who wants to date a guy with PTSD?"

"You wanna date, like not here? Or can we stay here and you fork over some money?"

Arsenal smiled down at her. "Let's do half and half."

"I'm expensive," said Ivy. "But I think I can get you a good rate." He laughed, the sound bursting out of him. "I'm on the clock now, buddy boy. What's say you leave the knives and gun locked in your helmet?"

"I gotta have one knife," said Arsenal. "And the gun stays with me. Can't have it fall into the wrong hands."

Ivy sighed. "Okay. Follow me. Hungry? Want some cheese sticks or something?"

"Cheese sticks?" said Arsenal, opening the door for her. "I want dead cow."

"We got sliders and fries," she said. She took him to the bar and had Dion make her the strawberry mash. "A Dr. Pepper for my friend here," said Ivy.

"He isn't mine," said Dion.

Ivan came up behind Dion and handed over the can. "You want glass with that?"

"Nope," said Arsenal. "Give it to me straight." He looked at Ivan's smiling face. "Why are you nice to me?"

Ivan looked at him while he polished a glass. "Very simple. You are bad man, but Ivy say you are better now. And, Ivy would kill you if you hurt someone. So, no problem." He put the glass away, and shrugged.

"Ivy kill someone? Are you a ninja, Ivy?" he asked. He waited until she hung up the phone from ordering the sliders and fries for him, and some fruit for her, from Ky.

He became absolutely still as Ivy dangled a knife in front of his face. "It's yours. I swiped it." He took it, and bent down to put it back in his boot.

"Is as I say, no? Ivy kill you if you do something bad. So, no problem." Ivan grinned.

"Want me to swipe your gun?" asked Ivy, as Dion put her drink in front of her.

"Damn, woman," said Arsenal. "Anyone ever tell you not to draw on a veteran?"

"I wasn't threatening you with it, and you knew that. Besides, I had a hand on your gun."

"Shit," said Arsenal. He took a deep breath. "Okay, so no doing anything bad. I can handle that."

"But can you?" asked Ivy, her blue eyes shining up at him.

"Depends on the bad," said Arsenal.

She put on Terminator after getting him to give her sixty dollars, and after making him pay for the drinks and food —his, not hers. They replicated the motel scene while it was onscreen, only without any angst over being chased by an android.

She slowly stroked his back, tracing his tattoos. "Mom," he said, as she stroked the portrait on his right bicep, "she died a week before my sixteenth birthday. Drunk driver crossed the center line. My dad let me take summer school, and get out of high school early. I joined the Marines at seventeen. Best thing that ever happened to me."

"Oh," said Ivy, feeling sad and happy at the same time.

Arsenal put a hand over his eyes. "He shot himself about ten days after I enlisted. Said in a note he couldn't live without her, and that she raised me good, to make her proud." He pointed to the number etched on his left arm. "My dad's draft number. He was in Vietnam. Didn't get why I signed up, but he went along with it."

"God, I'm sorry," said Ivy, tracing a line over his skin.

He took a deep breath. "Boot camp sucked, but it sucked for all of us, so I did what they told me to do. No one left for me to go back to, no one from high school really liked me." He stared off into space. "We were the only ones at her fucking funeral, except for a few ladies from the church. Fuck them."

Ivy held him as he cried. She stroked his back, and held his face in her hand. She kissed his shoulder, wrapped her leg over his hip. When he finished, she grabbed two wet wipes, and he wiped his face.

"Fuck," he said. "That's not even the worst of it. Those fuckers," he said. "Those fuckers! Spread some sort of story my mom was stepping out on my dad, that's why she was on the road at night. She had groceries in the fucking back seat. She was getting fucking dinner!" He punched the pillow, and she let him shred it. She could buy more.

She ordered more strawberry drink and some Coke. She cleaned up both Arsenal and the destroyed pillow. Ky brought the order, along with breadsticks and spaghetti sauce dip. She put on Iron Man, and they cheered for the good guys and booed the bad ones. They had fun, laughing and crying until the tears dried.

"You're good for me," said Arsenal, and he kissed her neck and held her close.

He took out money, folded it for her, and put it in her hand. "Walk me out?" he said. She put on her leather pants, a bustier, some lipstick, and some low boots. "Shit, girl, you're the finest I've ever seen." He took out more money and handed it to her. "Let's do this," he said.

She turned to him, stroked his face. "My mom broke sometime, never entirely sure why. She just went away in her head one day and never came back. I was in the sixth grade. They put me in foster homes, kept moving me around like a chess piece. She died in the hospital."

"Fuck, I'm sorry," he said.

She laughed without mirth. "I got pregnant my last year of high school. My boyfriend split. My little girl seemed normal at first, but she didn't like noises. She cried and spit up a lot. She didn't want to play peek-a-boo or let me blow on her tummy. She didn't want to look at me. I kept telling my foster mother and the doctors at the clinic that something was wrong, but no one would listen to me. They kept saying, 'Wait and see' and 'She'll grow out of it.' Idiots. Bastards."

"Morons," he added.

She wiped her eyes. "We got out of the system, and I got a job as a checkout girl. My friend Joan and I split the rent on a tiny place, as big as this room, and worked opposite shifts to watch after Damia. There wasn't money for doctors."

"God, Ivy. I'm sorry."

She wiped her eyes again. "Then, I left her with Joan, and when I got back, Joan was gone. She left Damia in her crib all night. She survived, but I was without a job. I set out to find me a doctor; date one or marry one. I met this pediatrician named Josh. We got married, and we moved into a nice house. Josh said she was autistic, and that she might never speak."

"Poor baby, your daughter."

She smiled. "I've got her in one of the best damned schools for autistic children in the country, and I made Josh pay for it." She smiled evilly.

They kissed, stroked each other. He stripped off his clothes, and so did she. He kissed her hair. "Spun gold," he said. He ran his hands down her shoulders, cupping her breasts in his hands. They kissed until he grew rock-hard against her.

She took a condom out of the box by the bed and rolled it on him. They came together, with him on top, clasping her hands. His skin was hot, sliding in and out of the sheets. She ran his fingers down his spine, making him gasp and moan.

Afterward, they lay gasping in bed. "So, what happened to Josh?" he asked.

"Found him in bed, with not one, but two, other women. He felt so guilty and was so scared that I would ruin his practice that he paid to send Damia to a special school. I tried treating her autism myself, but it went really wrong. She doesn't like to be touched, or to make noises, or to hear noises. She likes it so quiet. And, I love rock music and dancing... and making my daughter smile. But she wouldn't smile. So, I had to leave her, and I came here. I'm able to pay for everything myself."

"You like to do things yourself?" he said.

"Everything," she said. "This room we're in is a trailer. I bought it. I stripped it. I decorated it. I work hard and get every fucking thing my daughter needs."

"What about for you?"

"I've been looking at brothels, like this one. There's some old abandoned ones. I could make them over."

"That must be really expensive to run," he said, flopping over on his back.

Ivy put her head onto his shoulder. "You've got food, liquor, and all the people to make it run. Plus, bartenders, cooks, cleaners, and the girls." She smiled. "And boys," said Ivy. "We're a full-service ranch."

"Really?" asked Arsenal. "Dion? And Ivan?"

"Not Ivan," said Ivy. "You haven't met Barry. And another girl tends bar, too."

"So, four bartenders. Lots of girls, and boys. Food, liquor, drinks. Power, water."

"And Di. They used to call her a madam. Now she's just a businesswoman."

"Don't forget Ky, he cooks, and at least one bouncer."

Ivy stared at the wall. "Wrong idea," she said. "Too expensive."

"Yes," said Arsenal. "Have you ever considered a bar? Drinks, a dancing girl or two. Bar food. Rock music. Bikers would love it. Maybe tourists."

"A rock bar's been done before," said Ivy. "Or haven't you seen the giant guitar on Harmon in Vegas?"

Arsenal laughed. "Yes, but they're clean. You can make yours a little... dirty."

Ivy sat up in bed. "Dirty Rock! I love it! No more of this red velvet shit. It will be cool, in neon blues and black and chrome." She flipped over on top of him. "Thanks. I needed that."

"What?" asked Arsenal, kissing her neck.

"For giving me the thing. The thing for just me."

***

He came back the next week, all joyous. "Got some extra work," he said.

She wore the bustier and leather he liked, and she jumped on him as soon as the door was closed. They came together in hard, strong, fast movements. She barely had time to put on the condom before he was inside her, and she was clawing his back, and they were both coming in great pulses.

They finally got comfortable, and he took her to bed. They watched the Avengers avenge, and ate finger food prepared by Ky. They drank sodas, and laughed. Then, they made love slowly, effortlessly. He held her, and she ran her fingernails up and down his spine, making him shudder. He fell asleep in her arms.

He came up swinging. He started crying out in screams both harsh and piteous. She rolled off the bed, not letting him connect. She came around him, held him from behind. Ky burst in, the rather huge James, the bouncer, behind him. She waved them off. She got an arm around her neck, avoiding an elbow in the face. She stroked the arm that was grappling with nothing.

She said, "Arsenal. Baby. Come back to me. Come back." He thrashed less. "Open your eyes, honey. Open them." He choked, then stilled.

Ky pushed James back through the door. "Girlfriend's got this," he said. "I'll be back with some treats," he said.

"Okay," Ivy said. The door closed.

"Move over," she said. "I've got you." He stared straight ahead. She stroked his cheek, and gave him half off the bed. "Baby, it's alright. Do you see the clock, that silver thing on the wall? Do you see the soft light from it?" She thought of places people went when they were overseas. "You're not in Kandahar," she said, stroking his head.

"Well, fuck," he said, coughing. "Thought you were an insurgent."

He turned, nearly allowing her to fall off the bed. She gave up, put a leg over him, and flipped herself over.

He grabbed her face in his hands, startling her. "Are you alright? Did I clock you?"

"No, baby," she said, putting her hands on his biceps. "No, I'm fine."

Ky came in and left a tray of Cokes and strawberries dipped in chocolate and mint cookies. He left the tray on the base of the bed and withdrew.

Arsenal didn't seem to notice Ky's entrances, either one of them. "It would kill me if I hurt you." He kissed her forehead. "Fuck," he said. "I'm a fucking monster."

"No, you aren't," she said. "Something fucking happened, maybe a lot of somethings. Why don't you tell me?" He sat up, rubbed his eyes. She sat up, too, and popped the tops on the Cokes. She handed him one. "Spill," she said.

"We were in Kandahar. Actually, there was a lot of stuff. The time the sniper took out a little girl before we could get him. The time the old man gave us tea, and we paid him, and we made jokes, and we went back through to get more tea, and then he was dead. The smell of dust, the taste of the tea. Still can't drink tea."

"Keep going, baby."

He drank some Coke. "The running firefights. The weapons with caps on them, boots underneath, another soldier down. The fact we had no fucking idea who was trying to kill us, or when, or why. The thing..." His voice trailed out into nothingness, and he stared at a wall, suddenly back in the desert again. Ivy patted his hand, then swiped a strawberry, and ate it. "The thing is," he continued, his voice far more gravel-like, with unshed tears.

She put down her Coke, finished her strawberry, took his Coke away, and held both his hands. "Tell me," she said.

"We checked for IEDs, as much as we could. Davies, she was fun, always laughing, a squared-away soldier but ready to rock. You know? And Terry, he was a stupid kid, always getting into trouble, and we always had to keep an eye on him. And Jasper, damn guy could shoot a penny out of a tree. Never said much, but he had our backs. They all..."

She took his face in her hands, touched her forehead to his. "Say it," she said.

"Terry was vaporized. Nothing left. Jasper lost an eye, an arm. Can't shoot worth shit now. And Davies..."

"Did she die?" Ivy had to know.

"No," he said. "She lost both her legs and is cracking jokes from a fucking wheelchair."

"Then why are you so..."

He pointed out the scars she'd already traced on his shoulder and chest. "Shrapnel. From the car and... body parts..."

She held him. He cried and screamed into her shoulder. She rocked him, and he let it go, like a river. She wrapped herself around him, and let him rain on her shoulder.

She grabbed a wet wipe, and he wiped his face. He rolled on his back and groaned. "The thing is," he said, as Ivy threw a leg over him, and put an arm over his chest, "I got cut up, and they lost lives, and eyes, and legs and arms. I keep having this crazy idea to cut off my foot or my arm to be like them, you know?"

She stroked his arm. "Losing your body parts won't give theirs back," she said.

"I know," he said. "Can't do a fucking thing about those five seconds. Five seconds. Jack slammed on the brakes, the screen shattered, things entered the jeep. Then, we flipped." He pointed to a spot on his arm. "Two pins, there. And they lost damn near everything."

She stared at him. "I've had my head in the sand, taking care of my daughter, Damia, and my schoolwork. I have an associate's degree in business. I'm here until I get enough. Enough to pay for Damia's hospital, and my bar." she said. "Even with my head in the sand, I know about the Wounded Warriors Project. Why don't you work with them?"

"I do," he said. "The Nighthawks go on rides to support them. I've been by a couple times, helped them with their physical therapy. But, I've still got all my parts. I'm fucking whole and they're not."

"Stupid man," said Ivy. "You give until it hurts or until it breaks you, then you give that little bit more. You aren't willing to break yourself on what they need. Do that, and you'll be whole again."

"How did you get so smart?" he asked her.

"I'm not," she said. "I've been stupid in so many ways that I can't even count them. So, I learned. And now, you've been stupid, so you can learn, too."

He kissed her forehead. "I'm not sure I have enough money to pay you for today. We're way over time."

She looked at the clock. "Since I went on my days off an hour ago, that's okay."

"Days off?" he said. "Come with me. We'll go to the desert, get lost, get found, whatever."

"Fine," she said. "Right now, let's eat our treats, drink a Coke, and take a shower. Then we'll get Cokes for the road. And some of Ky's amazing sandwiches. I swear the man belongs in a gorgeous hotel cooking for the best of the best, not here."

They fed each other strawberries, ate the cookies, put on robes, and took the Cokes into the shower. They came out clean and laughing.

As they passed by the kitchen on the way back to her crib, Ivy said, "Ky, whatever you made for my to-go box, make two."

"Anything you hate?" Ky asked Arsenal.

"Ketchup, and pickles," he said. "And tea."

"Who hates pickles?" asked Ivy. They dressed, laughing, in their leathers.

Ky gave them two insulated boxes, and Ivy grabbed her packed go bag. They slipped out the back, lest Ivy be dragged back into sex with clients.

Arsenal paid her what he could and she left Di's cut with Ky. "Always gotta pay the house," said Ivy.

"You've got that straight, girlfriend," said Ky. "Toodles!"

They snuck out the back, filled their saddlebags, and were gone in a cloud of dust. They flew out over the road, laughing. They stopped at a rest stop and ate out under a million stars. They found a campground, and Arsenal took out a tent.

"Always need two sleeping bags," he said. "Got 'em packed. Don't like rocks." They pitched the tent in the dark and made love under starlight.

They awoke at dawn, and made long, slow, lazy love, and ate the chicken salad sandwiches and drank the Cokes Ky had packed for them.

They rolled up the sleeping bags, struck the tent, and headed out into the dawn light. They meandered to Lake Havasu and stared out at it. They made a run to Sonic and filled up on cheese fries, chicken strips, jello, and strawberry shakes. They took off, looked in little shops, bought frozen drinks and chips at a convenience store, went back down to the lakeside and sat, looking out over the water.

"I wanna be a bike mechanic," said Arsenal. "The best one I can be. I've been thinking about what you said, about giving more. I can work like a dog, save up some money. Give back to the people who really need it. Wounded Warriors, or kids with autism. Whoever the fuck needs the money. Maybe even settle down somewhere."

"Vegas?" asked Ivy.

"Maybe," he said. "Summers are scorchers, but winters are next to nothing. Worst thing is the floods on the one day a year it rains."

"I just... Vegas is my home, I guess." Ivy sipped her drink. "What the fuck are we gonna do? I've got a kid who can't live with me because she needs a ton of help. I've got an ex that wanted to fuck two flight attendants at once. I fuck men because it pays enough money to pay for my daughter's education."

"Hmm," he said, thinking.

She took another swig, a tiny one to ward off brain freeze. "If I can get enough money together, it can pay out Damia's care forever. That way, if the bar fails, Damia's still covered."

"So, do it," said Arsenal. "By the way, I'm not exactly a catch. I come out swinging in my sleep."

"You know, there are therapists and medication for PTSD," said Ivy.

He snorted. "You ever try to get something from the VA?"

She nodded. "I hear the Veteran's Administration is a pain in the ass to work with."

"Try them trying to deny that I even have PTSD. Fuckers." He took a swig of his frozen cola drink.

"Well, we can fight them," she said. "I got what I wanted. My daughter's in a school that actually helps her. I have experience fighting the 'medical professionals' who won't see anything wrong when it's right in front of their faces."

"Fuck," said Arsenal. "You're feisty. Better than feisty. You're a little wolverine when you want to be, aren't you?"

"I've had to be," said Ivy. "I've been up, down, right, left, back, front. It's like I'm on the twistiest fucking road in the Universe, and I keep falling down, getting bloody, and I can't see where I'm fucking going. I slip, I fall. I get back up. I fucking get back up. Every time."

"I need to take a page from your book," said Arsenal. "I've got to be better, do better."

"You should call Chandry," said Ivy. "She's a therapist. She comes to me to pay me so she can vent. We sit in the Jacuzzi, and she pours her heart out. No names, just her sadness, and frustration. Girls who look at themselves and think they're fat, and try to die on the slow-motion plan. A teen who killed himself, after she had him checked into the hospital. They let him out too early, and he went home and put a plastic bag over his head. The soldier who made it home after two tours in Afghanistan to his young wife and children. He rode out into the desert and blew his own head off. The losses. Not the adult males acting like children, or the women with cruel words who drank and drugged but couldn't admit they were addicts. No, the losses smash her down. She comes to me like I'm her own therapist." Ivy looked out over the lake.

"Sounds like she really cares. Yeah, get me her number."

"Give me your phone." She opened her own phone, put the number into it, then handed it back. "What say we go swimming?"

"That lake is ice-cold," he said.

She laughed and stripped down to her underwear, with her matching camisole and panties in shocking pink. He stripped down to his boxers and chased her into the water. They gasped, and threw each other into the lake, and splashed each other. They played like children. They came out and dried on the beach. They got dressed again and went to get fried chicken, biscuits with butter and honey, Coke, and lemonade. They ate it out on the patio of the restaurant. They ate like pigs and laughed.

They pitched the tent under a million stars in a campsite overlooking the lake. They made love; slowly, gently, with the hot wind over their bodies. She touched the scars outside his body, and he stroked the ones deep inside her. Bit by bit, they both were able to let go of their pain, just a little, that night.

He took her back, kissed her by the back door, and smiled down at her. "Gotta make more money so I can afford you," he said.

"I'm high class," she said, "but, you just gave me the most carefree weekend I've had in a very long time. Years, I think."

"Good," he said. "Let's do this in two weeks. I know you'll want to see Damia next weekend."

"Good," she said. She kissed him, the steamiest one she had. "I'll be waiting."

He looked down at her. "You are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen." He smiled, then kissed her again. "Stay strong, love." He turned, walked back to his bike, put on his helmet, and rode out in a cloud of dust.

Ivy took a deep breath, pulled herself together, and walked in the door. She slipped into her room, showered, and slept the sleep of the dead.

**Recovery**

It took two weeks for the ladies at the Palomino Roadhouse to recover. Marybelle stayed, but she went on a buying frenzy. Jazz decided to go to college. Her sick mother was better, and now making a living growing fruit trees and selling the fruits,n so more money went to her brother and sister's educationhis shoulder, waking. Ivy suggested the medical field; people always got sick, whether the economy was good or bad. She suggested Jazz become an X-ray or ultrasound technician, and come back to the Palomino on breaks and summers. She could take what classes she could online, as she herself had done.

Lissa switched to their shift. She was half African-American and half Asian, and all gorgeous. Very petite, pretty, and fun. She fit in with the other ladies well, teasing Marybelle about her obsession with nice things, and speaking Thai with Jazz. Sometimes twisting Ivy's hair in new ways for her, putting silver clips on the ends.

Arsenal took Ivy for a long ride in the desert. Over steaks at a casino in Pahrump.

Ivy told him about the visit, "Shit," he said, "glad you're all still alive. The Blacksnakes are bad news. Claw is their leader, but he's a hothead. And an asshole. Skeleton covers up what he does. They run guns and drugs. They are scary-bad. I hear there are bodies in the desert. I heard they got into it with some Mexican gang. They took out two of their leaders, and no one wants to retaliate. You ever heard of Chollos _not_ retaliating?"

"Nope," said Ivy.

"Anyway, it could be a bunch of bullshit, but..."

"It sounds real," said Ivy.

"Exactly."

Ivy diced her baked potato, "I told Di to never let them in again."

"May backfire," said Arsenal, "they may decide to burn the place down."

"Ugly thought," said Ivy.

"Who the fuck is DVI, anyway?"

"Well, she used to be like me. She put her money in the bank, like I did. Every dime that doesn't go to Damia goes to the bank and earns some interest. I thought about buying a CD last week."

Arsenal stared at her and Ivy looked at him with her wild green eyes, "What? Hookers can't own certificates of deposit from a bank?"

Arsenal choked as he took a drink of his Coke, and stared, "You're not a hooker," he said, "you sleep with men for money. You're a lady of the evening!"

"And you want to be my boyfriend?" Ivy sipped from her own Coke, "what's wrong with you?"

He laughed, "I am a biker with PTSD. What are you doing with me?"

She laughed, "We're made for each other, aren't we?"

He stood, leaned over, and kissed her. They ended up getting a room in the hotel and staying the night. They kept their jeans on and took off their shirts, stroking each other's arms. They kissed deeply, grabbing the back of each other's heads and diving into each other's mouths. They came up for air, stopping to kick off their boots. They took time unbuttoning their jeans, and soon they were touching in more places. They took off each other's underwear, and their kissing became strained with need.

They made it to the bed, sinking onto a coverlet. They slid up to the top and lay beside each other, exploring. She took his cock in her hand and kissed it before she slid on a condom she had palmed from her jeans. She put her leg on his hip, facing him, and he went into her. She tightened herself to keep him inside. He grabbed her ass, driving himself in. He came explosively, crying out into her mouth.

She stopped, and she gasped to get her breath back. They rolled apart, and laid on their backs, spent. He was the first to stand, stumbling into the bathroom. He came back with a wet cloth for her and cleaned her up. He threw the cloth back into the bathroom and fell over her body onto the bed. They fell together, laughing. They slept with her head on his shoulder, waking to kiss each other in the dark and do it all over again.

_"Some secrets need sharing; they're like a razor blade inside until they are removed. Painfully. Without anesthesia."_

## 4

# Girls and Rides

### The Palomino

_"Nice friend."_

The Palomino huddled in the middle of the desert, on the road to Reno, about two to two and a half hours away from Las Vegas, depending on how fast you wanted to drive. It was a long, low, mish-mash. The original building a long, low building with a parlor with red velvet chairs and gold and red couches. Then, a bar along the left side, leading to a room with a pool table, card tables, and in the back, a hallway that led to the large modern kitchen, complete with breakfast bar.

On the right side of the hallway was a door that led to the Jacuzzi and showers. There were several built-in bedrooms. Di, or Diamond, the madam, had long, dark, brown hair, and green eyes. So dark, they looked like agates. She had an oval face, and a slamming body, with "Her junk in the right places," as she liked to say. She had a suite hidden behind the bar with her own large bedroom and ensuite bathroom with a Jacuzzi tub. She still entertained clients from the past that still loved her magic hands. There were three more built-in bedrooms. The girls, Marybelle, Thanda, and Jasmine, had their own. Ivy had her own, as did Ky. Ky's was partially dug into the side of the hill, thereby providing both shade and privacy.

Barry the bouncer had a house just off the property, the size of a one-bedroom apartment. He turned it into a duplex for the bartenders. The bartenders originally shared a doublewide trailer shooting out of the left side; now Dion and Barry used it as their sex cave, and Ivan had his own part of James' duplex. The beds were round with special soft mattresses; the house was done up in velvet and lace, and comforters and pillows carried the red, black, and gold into the rest of the house.

The sex workers, with Dion and Barry among them, were expected to come out when Di or James pushed a button and made the lights flash in the bedrooms, including the trailers. Whichever bartender was on would stay behind the bar, and the Dion or Barry would come out to lounge on the chairs or couches, or at the bar. Guests would come in, Di would have them choose something from the ever-expanding list of services, and pick with whom they wanted to do it with.

Guests were informed of the condom requirement and were then left to enjoy the night in the parlor with the bar along the wall. Some didn't want to decide, and just wanted to sit at the bar and munch and drink until someone caught their fancy. The guys who were either bisexual or liked only guys, especially, took a while to feel safe enough to choose. A limited choice, with Dion or Barry, but a choice nonetheless. Some even paid for one guy and one girl, and liked to watch, or liked three-on-three, or more, action.

Di was very understandably proud of offering guys and girls for both guys and girls. There were hen parties from Las Vegas, with groups of women that wanted men to give them what they wanted. Some people had no idea what they wanted, and once they relaxed a little, they were usually able to choose.

Ivy's place was just off the back hallway that jogged right after the kitchen. She turned it into a luxurious den. She had a flat-screen TV, and the best Netflix you could offer, just for them to watch. She was the leather girl; the others wore satin and silk. That night, she wasn't in her room, but playing buck-naked poker (on cushions, to save the upholstery), with a group of ranchers. The ranchers weren't naked. Ivy was the dealer and kept her movement slow and languid, except when shuffling or dealing. Then, she was all business. One of the rotating female roommates in her past was a card shark. Ivy knew every trick.

She was drinking orange and cherry juice, which looked like a tequila sunrise. She even had a cherry in it. The men all had variations of beer, with one exception; Mitch Haller had a whiskey sour. Ivan sent Jazz by with drinks when she wasn't servicing someone, she would come by, in only a G-string, and a tray full of beer. Every once in a while, someone who had bowed out of a hand would cover his chips with a glass bowl and leave with one of the girls or the guys. Except for Mitch; he stayed in.

The money was real and patently illegal. Buy-in was five hundred cash, and there was five thousand dollars in chips on the table. Ivy kept the game clean, and took one percent for the house, and made far more than that in tips.

She knew damn well Mitch had the aces. Tomas had a pair, but they couldn't be that high. He correctly guessed the problem and bowed out. He beckoned over Marybelle, and she ended up in his lap, then she led him to the Jacuzzi. Werner grunted, and put down two pair, kings and twos. Mitch put down two aces and two tens.

Werner groaned and stood. "Cash out, Ivy," he said. She cashed him out; he was still up a little. "Thank you, Ma'am," he said. "Where did Barry go?"

She nodded toward the kitchen. "You two can have a nice dinner."

"Ky is the most amazing chef," said Werner. He put down a two-hundred-dollar tip for Ivy. "Buy yourself something nice, woman," said Werner.

Mitch sighed. "I guess I'll cash out since no one else wants to play."

Ivy nodded, collected the cards, put them away, and paid him out. She put the chips away in their glass case. She counted out Tomas' money, and called Ivan to run it over, and take the house cut to Di.

Mitch laid down a thousand dollars. "I want you, right now, on this table, in full view of God, and everyone else."

"Done," said Ivy, and she made the money disappear. She jumped up on the table and looked down at him. "Hard and fast, or slow and easy?"

"Now!" said Mitch.

He took off his clothes, throwing his shirt over the back of a chair, dropping his pants, kicking off one boot, then another. She leered down at him, a half-smile on her face. He grabbed one bare foot, then another.

"Down here," he said. She leaped down. "Good-god, woman," he said. "Do you need to do a half-gainer off the board?"

"You live in the desert," she said. "How do you know diving terms?"

"I didn't always live here," he said. "I'm from a swanky neighborhood in Texas, and I was a state diving champion." She backed into him, grinding against his cock. He moaned. "They have women in Texas," he whispered into her ear. "But none like you."

She handed over a condom, and he rolled it on. He bent her over the table, slapped her ass on each cheek, and went into her, slow and steady, then gathering rhythm. He pulled her hair back and kissed her neck. He rammed into her, stopped, stroked her back, then started slow, building up momentum again.

He slowed twice more. Once he withdrew completely to slap her ass with one hand, all while he reached around to stroke her clit, making her moan and gasp. He went back in, went slow then fast again, then slow. Then, he slammed in and out, coming explosively.

She waited until he slid out, then she slid to the side and turned to him. "Come back anytime," she said.

"A thousand more," he said.

"Clean Sex Special?" she asked.

"Absolutely," he said.

She led him to the Jacuzzi, and they cavorted in the water. She had him shower first, soaping him all over, then he soaped her. They rinsed, then slid into the Jacuzzi. He got it up again, and this time she grabbed a condom from the little box and brought his ass up over the lip of the Jacuzzi. She lit candles, rolled on the condom, and slid onto him. She pushed onto him, harder, and rose and fell with the slapping of the water on their feet. He came, explosively, and she dragged him to the shower to clean up again. Ky brought snacks; tiny tacos, little chicken empanadas and a bowl of strawberries and colas.

They had clean sex twice more, and she sent him away after he slipped her another five hundred. She put on a robe, put her hair back in twists, and went to her bed to sleep after she gave Di her cut.

She woke up two hours later, groggy. The light was on. She dressed in a bustier and a G-string and slid on a see-through, silver-metallic duster. The sleepy, tousled look worked for her; a woman wanted a special night with her girlfriend. Both wore turquoise jewelry, silver chains dripping from necks, ears, wrists, and ankles. Both had the reddish desert skin, black eyes, and straight black hair. Native, with the lilts of Mexico. They gave their names as Thelma and Louise, making Ivy laugh.

Ivy took them back to her room. They stripped down to only their jewelry, and Thelma wanted Louise to love Ivy. Ivy stroked her, put her fingers inside her, and made her come again and again. In writhes, moans and gasps, each one crystal clear in the golden-red room. Then, Louise, exhausted, stroked Thelma's long hair, and Ivy did the same to her.

Ivy ordered food and sparkling apple juice. Ivy put on a G-string and a see-through black top. She propped the exhausted ladies up on pillows, and fed them empanadas, fries, tomatillo salsa, and tiny bowls of corn soup and chips. They ate and drank and watched Thelma and Louise.

Thelma fell asleep, her head on Ivy's hip. Louise said, "My name is Bianca, and this is Carmella. We got married, and her dad won't talk to her. She's heartsick. She used to be daddy's little girl, you know?"

"Some people are stupid," said Ivy. "I bet if she were dead, he'd feel differently, and regret his behavior."

Bianca nodded. "My parents are Mestizo. No one really cares about us, you know? It's just been my mom and me, since forever." Ivy hid her wince. "She says, dye my hair purple, fine. Get tattoos, fine. Be a lesbian, fine. But no drugs, no doing stuff that will get me in prison. Half my damn neighborhood's dead, or in prison. Chollo's dying; he's got cancer. Ty-Ty's in a wheelchair. Jakan's brain-damaged. His momma kills herself taking care of him, and he won't get better, won't die. So much death, estupido."

"That sucks," said Ivy. "I lived in foster homes for years, some of them close to yours. I liked them better, more honest that way. Not trying to be nice just to look good."

"Don't you want a real family?" asked Bianca.

"I had one," said Ivy. "Kind of lost it. Found my husband in bed with two other women. Got a daughter, kind of like Jakan, only she's getting better, slowly."

"Well, that sucks," said Bianca.

"I'm saving up to buy a bar," said Ivy. "It's going to be awesome."

"Sounds good," said Bianca.

"What are you going to do?" asked Ivy.

"We're already doing it," said Bianca. "We sell silver and turquoise jewelry. Carmella is the designer, and I sell online."

"I'll take some of the money for tonight in jewelry," said Ivy. So, Bianca draped her in the silver and turquoise jewelry. Necklaces, earrings, an anklet, and two fine bracelets of silver embedded with turquoise. "I still need the house cut," she said. "But, if you want to come back, same trade."

***

She cried a little at the wasted time and vision she'd spent on the idea to buy an abandoned whorehouse. She let it go and concentrated on finding what would work for her, and the cost of a rehab. Including bartenders, bar backs, cooks, kitchen staff, all the permits, and inspections. She had a clear, crystal moment of despair.

_How the fuck am I going to do this and have my daughter get what she needs? I'm fucking being pulled apart, split down the fucking middle. I can't fuck the world forever._ She drank some soda, wiped her tears.

She took a break, then ate pasta with black olives and magnificent cheese olive bread, and crashed. She slept for four hours, apparently right through a light. Since it was only one guy and he picked Marybelle right away, Di wisely let Ivy sleep. She woke up ready to do battle, in a feisty mood. Some Japanese businessmen came through. The lower-downs took the other girls. The head man took one look at Ivy, in red leather, dripping with silver jewelry. He wanted to watch while Dion made love to her. She and Dion knew what to do, how to make it slow, sexy, and last all damn night.

They split a huge haul, because the head businessman, Tanaka, wanted to let his subordinates relax and have a good time. They drank a gallon of whiskey each, except for Ivy, who stayed clear-eyed. Even Dion slept with exhaustion by dawn. Tanaka was the last down, succumbing to Ivy masturbating in front of him. He paid, and they ended up in the Jacuzzi, sipping whiskey. All except for Ivy, who drank ice-cold apple juice. They left in the black Lincoln town car Damian drove. He later said he made more tips driving those businessmen than he had in the previous week.

Arsenal came back, and they had one night in the bed, watching all the John Hughes eighties movies. The Breakfast Club and Less than Zero, then St. Elmo's Fire and Pretty in Pink. Ky kept up a steady stream of food, including popcorn, taquitos, stuffed potatoes, and shrimp and mushrooms on green onion sticks grilled over a fire. Then, orange chicken in a rice bowl with shredded veggies, and juices, blackberry water, and the occasional lemonade.

Arsenal paid up, and let her sleep with her in his arms when she closed her eyes with exhaustion. He found almond oil, and he rubbed her back, neck, shoulders, stroking his hands over her buttocks, down her thighs, to her feet. She groaned, reveling in being treated well, for once. He flipped her over, did her breasts, down her sides, and down each leg. She groaned some more. He wiped his hands off with a wet wipe, and delicately put the cooling aloe she used on her face with the tips of his fingers. She slid deeper into sleep. When she awoke, he was gone, the money on the pillow, and a note saying he'd be back next week. She dressed in her jeans, a cami, and T-shirt. She got a full breakfast, and took off to Las Vegas, to the Nighthawks' clubhouse.

She was right; he was in the garage with Bonnie, working on a bike. "Hey," she said. "We were supposed to spend the day together."

"You were exhausted," he said, digging in and getting the hose hooked up right.

"You can't look at me?" asked Ivy.

He checked the line carefully. "Ivy, I'm spending all the damn money on you that's supposed to go to school in Colorado."

"So, we see each other on my days off," said Ivy.

He checked his work, then stood, wiping his hands. "You're a whore, Ivy."

Her face froze. "You know why."

"Yes, I do," he said.

"Well, judge me if you want to," she said. "Don't bother coming back." She turned and strode to her bike. Then, she turned around and came back. "Do you think this is the life I want? Everyone sacrifices for what they fucking want. My daughter is getting the best medical care in the world, and she deserves it. I spend my days underwater, and I'm fucking drowning, and I have to. I want this damn bar, and I'm going to make it happen, and also have a way to provide for her, no matter what. If I have to fuck every damn person in Vegas to get this straightened out, I will. I'm working on it, making plans. Doing what I need to do. So, fucking judge me! I'm a dawn runner, and that's what I do. So, get with it, or end it." He kept his head down, his back to her. She turned and walked away.

Bonnie walked up to him, and slammed him in the shoulder with a fist, staggering him. "That woman loves you. She came all the way out here to say it, and you treated her like she was a fucking oil stain on the floor. Apologize, or don't come here again."

He turned, saw the set of Ivy's shoulders, knew he'd hurt her someplace deep. He thought about Jerk Josh, and about her mama going deep in her own brain and leaving a child alone in a world that didn't care. Fuck, he'd hurt that heart.

He dropped the rag and ran toward her. "Wait," he said. She stopped. He came up behind her. "I'm sorry. I just... my head is fucking broken, and I spend all my money and time with you, and I am so damn scared. What kind of future do we have, Ivy? I know you won't be at the Palomino forever, and I know you won't be fucking everyone that comes in, who wants you. But how long? One year? Two? Three? I want to be yours, and for you to be mine."

She turned around with tears in her eyes. "I have no fucking idea. I could drop dead tomorrow. I can't see the future. I am all she has," she said. "Even if she won't look at me, or call me 'Mama,' or giggle, or even let me touch her. I must make sure she is taken care of, and morality goes out the fucking window when that's true."

He took a deep breath. "Okay," he said. "I get it. As long as it takes." He stepped forward. "I'm sorry. Jealousy has no place here. Damia comes first. I'm a big boy. I can be lower on the totem pole."

She slapped him across the face. "I am not a whore. If you ever call me that again, we're done."

He caught her hand, held it in his. "I am so sorry I called you that, and I deserved that. But, we don't get to hit each other because we're angry."

"Okay," said Ivy.

He stepped forward, leaned down and kissed her. "Let me take you somewhere," he said. I've got the tent."

She sighed. "Sonic?"

He laughed. "Why the hell not? Cold drinks and sliders." He took her in his arms. "I'm sorry." He put his forehead on hers.

"So am I," she said. They kissed, and then went to their bikes. Bonnie watched them ride away. _They'll either kill each other or be together forever,_ she thought.

**_Inola_**

Ivy picked up the phone, "Ivy, this is Henry, from the Nighthawks. Are there any Blacksnakes nearby?"

"No, Henry, we banned them. Di installed a fence and a gate that needs a code."

"Good idea," he was silent a moment.

"You coming up?" said Ivy.

"You deal with girls, right?"

"Yeah, all the time," she said, "you bringing someone?"

"Yeah," he said, "my cousin Numa has a friend. She's scared, you know. Thought we'd create a situation she would control."

"Come on down," said Ivy.

"Be there in thirty," said Henry, and he hung up.

Ivy chose red and leather boy shorts and a leather bra top, (and put a gray mesh top over them both), and her riding boots. She was looking for rock ''n' roll, not intimidation. She went out to the main room.

Marybelle was charming a cowboy. They were drinking together on a couch. Jazz was roaring with laughter at the bar with an Asian man, —short, very flat nose, dressed in jeans and a pale blue, short-sleeved shirt. Lissa wasn't there; she apparently already had a client in her room.

James called. Ivy picked up, "Yeah, it's Henry, he's good. Let him in."

After the roar of the bikes subsided, Ivy went out to meet them, "Hey, Henry," she said with a smile.

"Hey," he said, "this is Numa, my cousin."

The cousin was an amazing beauty, with high cheekbones and full lips, kind of an Amerind Angelina Jolie. Next to her was a small woman with her hair braided down to her waist. With Numa's cheekbones, a wide face, and small, cherry-red lips. She wore purple glasses that made her black eyes seem huge.

Numa stepped forward and shook Ivy's hand, "I'm Numa. This is Inola. She's a third cousin."

"Nice to meet you," said Inola in a small voice, but her voice didn't shake, "I heard you're good with women."

Ivy smiled, "I try. Come on in. You must be thirsty after a ride." She held open the door, and they filed in.

Ivy took them to the bar, and they all selected sodas, "Numa and I want to shoot some pool," said Henry.

"I'll clean your clock, old man," said Numa. He laughed, and they went to the games room.

"Is there someplace we can talk?" asked Inola.

"Sure. The heat is massive today. Where did you ride today? I'm assuming not Death Valley."

Inola laughed as Ivy ordered two more Cokes and stood, "No, just straight here from the res. It's a good ride."

"You hungry?" asked Ivy.

"I can eat," said Inola.

They chatted over Cokes and Ky's delicious Southwest chicken burritos, stuffed with chicken and vegetables.

"I go to the college. I heard you got your degree there."

"Associate in business," said Ivy, "what do you want?"

"Vet tech," said Inola, "if I get the money, I'd like to become a vet. It's very useful on the res. I helped a horse with colic last week. Didn't sleep for two days."

"Sounds good," said Ivy, "I'm going to open a bar someday, something rock 'n' roll, probably in Vegas."

Inola nodded, "Dancing and stuff."

"Yeah," said Ivy, "some place safe, where you can relax after a ride, maybe where some tourists pop in too."

"Yeah," said Inola, "safe."

Ivy touched her hand, "I'm safe," she said, "I'm a sure thing. Henry will give me some money. You can help him deliver a foal or something to pay him back."

Inola laughed, "Sure. We have two pregnant now."

Ivy shuddered, "Summer pregnancy. The worst."

Inola laughed again, "That's true. They're going to have champion barrel racers for foals."

"Then it's worth it," said Ivy.

"Yeah," said Inola, "I like you. I think... we can..."

Ivy nodded, "Follow me."

She took her to the bathroom to wash up, then went back and took the extra Cokes back to her room. She took off her boots, and so did Inola.

"What movie do you want to watch?" asked Ivy, "I've got stuff from _Aliens_ to _Easy Rider._ Or we can read books. I've got some sex movies, girl-on-girl, made by lesbians, not the fake stuff. And pictures."

"Just show me what to do," said Inola, taking her shirt off over her head, revealing a camisole top and muscled arms.

"What the heck have you been doing?" asked Ivy, coming over and touching her arms, "lifting the colts over your head?"

Inola laughed, "No, but the hay bales are huge and heavy."

Ivy kissed Inola, gently. Inola was soft and responsive, "You know," she said, "I'm not the boss here. You are."

Inola smiled, —a smile as bright as the sun, "Good to know," she reached down, and pulled the mesh top off of Ivy.

They kissed up against the door, slowly, then faster. Inola unhooked Ivy's front bra strap and slid it off her shoulders.

"Pretty," she said and took Ivy's breasts in her hands.

She kissed and sucked, and Ivy let her fingers roam over Inola's face and, her neck. Ivy took Inola's camisole off over her head, and they held each other, kissing. Inola dropped her jeans.

Ivy turned on some slow rock, starting with Aerosmith's _Angel,_ and led Inola to the bed. They fell down on the soft sheets, kissing, rolling over each other, hands touching breasts and stroking faces and hair. It was lips kissing lips and cheeks, breasts, and necks as well. Inola laughed, her hands exploring everywhere. She pulled off Ivy's boy shorts, and stroked her stomach, then rolled on top of Ivy. Inola kissed her lips, her face, then suckled her breasts again, making Ivy moan. She kissed down on her stomach, then pulled up her legs. She kissed her thighs, and Ivy's back arched. Inola found the 'button' in between Ivy's legs and pushed it. She licked her fingers, and pressed the button, vibrating her fingers. Ivy arched her back, crying out. She put her fingers inside, and Ivy moved against her. Ivy came in a moan, and reached up and pulled off Inola's little lace panties. She flipped her over and did the same to Inola. Inola moaned, and cried out, and came in a rush of ecstasy.

Ivy sucked on her fingers and put her fingers inside Inola. She made her cum, and cum again, lying next to her, kissing her, taking the moans into her mouth. Then, Inola reached inside Ivy and made her cum. They stroked each other, kissing and sucking as they enjoyed each other.

Finally, they laid next to each other, gasping. Ivy waited until her body was working again, and she handed a Coke to Inola and then popped the top on her own can. They lay, snuggling, giggling, and sipping their Cokes.

"How am I going to find a girlfriend?" asked Inola.

Ivy smiled, "College will do it. Room with other girls. I was in this two-bedroom-plus-loft with five girls. Two of them were lesbians, but they didn't date each other. Join clubs. If you don't know how to do something, then learn! Watch some videos, then go to learn from others in the club. Buy a camera or a guitar, or learn line dancing. There's probably another lesbian in your vet tech program. If that doesn't work, there are two lesbian bars in Vegas. They are great fun. Smile. Laugh, have a good time, make friends."

"What if they don't like me 'cos I'm Indian?"

Ivy looked into Inola's eyes, "Then fuck them. They're too stupid for words. Anyone would love to have you as a girlfriend."

Inola was mesmerized by her.

Ivy used her hand to bring Inola's cheek back to her when Inola looked away, "Expect your heart to get broken. It makes it stronger. Just don't stop loving. You never know when someone awesome is nearby, just waiting to meet you."

"Do you have someone special?"

"Yes," said Ivy.

"Lucky you!" said Inola.

"Lucky me!" said Ivy.

They dressed, and Ivy turned off the music, they went to the bar for more Cokes and then they went into the games room to shoot pool with Henry and Numa.

"You good?" asked Henry, as Inola smiled a blinding smile, "that good?" he said.

Inola nodded and felt amazing.

"You ladies play. Let an old man get on his feet." Henry took off to the poker table. He sat down, and Ivy sat down next to him, "The kid seems okay," he said.

"You'll be sad to lose her to college," said Ivy, "and you'll have to find some way to pay for vet school."

"She's eighteen," said Henry, "in case you were wondering she starts school in September. And, we've been looking into scholarships for her."

He passed her an envelope under the table. Ivy looked inside. There was a hundred bucks. She slid the money into her boy shorts over her hip.

"Good," said Ivy, "I would help, but I've got my own daughter's school to pay for."

Henry nodded slowly, "I wondered why you chose this profession," he said, as he passed an envelope over to her, "she is in boarding school?"

"She's severely autistic. The school is expensive as hell, but she's actually learning words in sign language and some numbers. She's seven."

"That's difficult," said Henry.

"And expensive. She's happy there. But, she doesn't recognize me, or want to be touched." she smiled sadly, "I like loud rock music, and she wants a world of silence."

"What will you do?" asked Henry, "after this?"

"I was going to open a brothel," said Ivy, "reopen one of the closed ones. Arsenal says that's too expensive. He suggested I open a bar, a rock one."

"You speak to him? What about your friend?"

"He apologized to her. He asked to make amends. He bought her a purse she wanted. She loves it, takes it with her whenever she leaves the Palomino. He's been sober five months now."

Henry stared at her, "You still see him?"

"He comes here sometimes, and we also date."

Henry nodded, "Then perhaps I should let him back into the club."

"He'd like that," said Ivy.

"What about you?" he asked.

"I do have a Harley," said Ivy, "Arsenal takes me on rides."

Henry gave her a card, "Here is our clubhouse. It is in Las Vegas. We need a woman's touch, you see. We encourage all to join who want to, but we need more support for the women."

He smiled as Inola whooped after making a difficult shot, "That one shows me that you do more than a job. You want to make others happy. So, yes, join us. Help women, and let them help you."

Ivy smiled, "I'll think about it."

Henry patted her hand, "You'll do it. When Arsenal rejoins, you both will."

**_Ivy's First Club Ride_**

Arsenal showed up a week later after calling ahead to be sure Ivy was free. She met him outside. He grabbed her, picked her up, and twirled her around, whooping.

"What?" she asked when he put her down.

He turned around and showed the vest with the Nighthawks logo emblazoned on the back. She whooped, and he turned back around, picked her up, and whirled her around again.

She snagged some drinks and took him back to her room. Ivy had barely closed the door when she found herself pushed up against the door. He kissed her deeply, stopping to hold her face in his hands and to look into her eyes. He pulled down her boy shorts and touched the inside of her thighs. She moaned. He kicked off his boots, and so did she. He dropped his jeans after fishing a condom out of his pocket. She rolled it on for him. He picked her up and thrust himself inside. His rhythm was fast and furious; his eyes wild, holding her hips in his hands.

She undressed him when he finished, and took off her own top. She went to the little bathroom and got wet cloths for them. She laid him on the bed and cleaned him up, then he cleaned her up. They both laid there, panting until she was able to snag the drinks. They watched _Aliens_.

He laughed when Ivy yelled, "Get away from her, you BITCH!" along with the actress.

He pulled the pillows down and laid her across them. He grabbed a condom out of his jeans. He reached in and touched her from behind. He waited until she found a rhythm on his fingers to put himself inside her, then slipped in.

"I get so deep," he said, groaning.

He found a rhythm, and they both came together, riding a wave. He slipped out, and this time, he let Ivy rest while he disposed of the condom and cleaned them both up.

"Sleep, baby," he said and left two hundred on the table, "love you." He kissed her; then he was gone.

Arsenal showed back up early on Monday, (Ivy's day off), with the entire club, —fifteen members. James was alarmed at first, but he recognized Arsenal and Henry and buzzed them in the gate. He woke Ivy up at the ungodly hour of noon. Everyone bought drinks at the bar, a wicked game of pool ensued, and several guys and one other girl went off with Marybelle and Jazz and Lissa. Dion traded insults with a one-eyed biker named Pirate, and they went off together. Katya, the 'days-off' bartender, took over.

Ivy ate breakfast, —whole wheat cinnamon apple pancakes with butter and maple syrup and walnuts. Arsenal paid for his own stack, with a lot of ribbing, because apparently, he'd missed the pancake breakfast held at the club before the ride. Some of the club members ordered their own food after smelling the scents wafting through the place from the kitchen. The entire group ordered lunch to take with them, and Ky got busy making fried chicken, and biscuits, and macaroni salad with chunks of cheddar. They cleaned out the bar's cans of Coke.

Ivy went back to put on her leathers, then Ivy and Arsenal watched an increasingly cutthroat pool game between Henry and a huge guy called Hammer. Despite the size of his muscles, Hammer had total control of the pool cue. Henry eventually lost, and money changed hands.

Everyone washed up, and they were on the road again in a roar of dust. Ivy rode with Arsenal. The day was blindingly hot. Ivy was glad she had invested in a cooling vest and wraparound shades. They made it in good time to Pyramid Lake. They swam, and ate, and talked about past rides. They were considering a Grand Canyon trip.

Some Paiutes met with Henry, including Numa, and Inola, and they shared some fried bread with the group. Two more of the Paiutes joined them, —a man and a woman on matching Harleys. They drove to the Hickison Petroglyph Recreation Area and saw the twelve-thousand-year-old paintings on the rocks. They then went to Lamoille Canyon, and then down to the Lehman Caves. They then headed back, stopping in Tonopah for dinner. The club left Ivy and Arsenal there and went back to Vegas on a hot summer night.

Ivy and Arsenal walked around the casino but didn't play any games. They just held hands. They walked back out into the night, and Arsenal kissed her.

"Marry me," he said, "we can go to Reno. Maybe there's a chapel here. I think there's one at the Silver Queen."

Ivy looked into his eyes, "I'm not going to quit my job. My daughter..."

Arsenal smiled, "I know. I want you to save up enough money for both your daughter and the job, though," he looked at her, "I don't earn much money. I was a mechanic in the military. They club guys, and this amazing woman named Bonnie, are teaching me to work on Harleys. I think I can make a good living doing that. I'm sorry. I wish I could do more, _be more_. I could sign up with some outfits, and work security. Some of them pay really well. I have PTSD, though, and my sponsor says that would trigger everything all over again, —the nightmares, the flashbacks."

"What does your sponsor say about getting married?"

"He says to date, but that it's too soon. He laughs and says a hooker is just my speed. I got mad at him and wanted to hit him. But, I didn't. He laughed when I got mad, said you won't judge me. He says you are really good for me, that I'm calmer after I've seen you."

"And about getting married?"

"He says no major decisions for the first year. He says to wait."

She leaned up and, kissed him, "Then, we wait. I'm not going anywhere," she kissed him again, "and, you won't be a dad, not yet, not 'till she can actually notice other people. But, someday, if the school works out..."

"Yes, Ivy. It's alright."

She stopped, holding back her tears, "I would like for you to meet her. Maybe not right in front of her, but see her ride. She rides a horse, you know. They use them for therapy. I think if she loves anyone, it isn't me. It's her pony, Candy." She let her tears silently fall.

Arsenal smiled, "Every girl needs a pony," he said.

She nodded, and he leaned down and kissed her tears away. They got some ice cream, and took it back outside to eat, under a sky with a million stars.

Later, Arsenal took Ivy up to the room. They got out of their boots and leathers and fell on each other as if they'd been separated for years. They consumed each other hungrily, clawing off each other's clothes. Arsenal could barely tear open the condom packet; he was in such a hurry. Ivy rolled it on him. Ivy threw him on the bed and got on top, riding him, rising up and down in a movement so fast he could barely keep up. She stopped and went deeper. She threw back her head, and clamped down, riding the wave. He came with her, high and long. They fell together, gasping.

They showered together, the hot water washing away the dust of the trip. After, they laid in each other's arms, Ivy tracing his tattoos.

Arsenal asked Ivy, "Do you want to get the club tattoo?" He pointed to the hawk surrounded by tribal wings.

"It's beautiful," said Ivy.

"Let's do it!"

"Now?" asked Ivy.

"Why not?"

There was a tattoo artist, not two blocks from the hotel, —a heavily tattooed woman with a pierced eyebrow and a shock of blue hair. She took a photo of Arsenal's tattoo, traced it, and put it on Ivy's right shoulder. Arsenal held her hand as the tattooist worked. They talked about rides they were going to do, —like to Lake Havasu and the Grand Canyon. The artist covered the tattoo with a gel and then with plastic, and they went back to the hotel.

They went for a ride the next day to Lake Tahoe. The view from the road down on the water made her gasp. The water was so blue that it seemed to steal the color from the sky. They ate at a bistro overlooking the water. He had linguine, and she had mushroom-cheese ravioli. They split their plates so they could taste both.

Next, Arsenal took her to a marina, and they watched the boats for a while, then they went to a beach and walked on the sand, hand in hand. The water was stunningly clear.

"I'd like to get married here," she said.

He kissed her and smiled, "We'll wait a couple months, get to it in the fall. If we wait until winter, it will be too cold."

They kissed and laughed. Ivy felt she had never laughed so much, (and over nothing), —a pretentious guy with his nose in the air walking his bulldog, who had his nose to the ground; a hat floating into the air, being chased by the teenager who lost it, into the water; some guys walking by speaking French so animatedly that it sounded like they were arguing.

They tried to guess what they were talking about, "Pierre is telling Jacques how to cook the soup," said Ivy.

"Jacques hates the color of the wallpaper, and he wants Pierre to fix it," said Arsenal.

"Pierre is tired of eating at the same restaurant every night," Ivy laughed, waving her hand in the air, "too boring."

"Jacques wants Pierre to move the boat, but Pierre doesn't want to go sailing!"

"I love our bikes," said Ivy, "better than a yacht any day."

They kissed again, laughing. They rode out into the sunset and took the velvet dark curvy roads with hot wind in their hair. They blasted road music, —Tom Petty's _Running Down a Dream,_ Whitesnake's _Here I Go Again,_ and The Eagles' _Take It Easy._ They made good time on the desert roads.

Arsenal pulled off on a lonely stretch of road that went nowhere. Ivy followed, wondering where they were going. When they could barely see the highway, he pulled off.

"Why are we stopping?" she asked, "your bike okay?"

He took off his helmet, "Come over here."

She took off her helmet and stowed it. She strode over.

He bent down and kissed her, "Get on my Harley," he said.

She laughed. He sat in the seat, and she got on, facing him. They kissed deeply, the wind flowing through their hair. He stroked her hair and, kissed her. He took off her jacket, and her shirt. She took his jacket off, and grabbed his face, kissing him. She pulled off his shirt and unsnapped her bra. He pulled her to him, and they kissed. He ran his hands up and down her back, the calluses on his thumbs rough on her skin. She devoured his mouth and, grabbed his hair, pulling him closer.

They began moving against each other, slowly. She fumbled with his jeans. She slid a condom out of her jeans and slid it on him. She drew herself out of his arms and off the bike, and kicked off her boots, jeans, and panties. She carefully slid back on, back to his embrace. He slid her up and onto him.

They moved slowly, the stars wheeling above their heads, the desert winds on their backs. She screamed into his mouth when she came, and he came right afterward. They slid the condom and its wrapper into a plastic bag and put it in his saddlebag. She found her clothes and dressed, shaking out the sand and dust. She was the first one to rev her Harley and head back towards the highway. He followed, laughing into the wind.

He dropped her off at the Roadhouse. She kissed him one last time before she entered the gate code. He saluted, and turned his bike around, and went back to Las Vegas. She then sat on the other side of the gate and watched him go.

**_Attorney_**

Ivy called an attorney. The Palomino Roadhouse gave her and her daughter health insurance, which helped with the astronomical costs of the ranch where her daughter lived. She had graduated from school, so she no longer had that cost, and the Palomino fed its workers for free. She wasn't a clotheshorse like Marybelle. She was making money that she needed to put away for Damia's care, it was probably for Damia's entire life. She also wanted to set up a fund for the bar. She found a female attorney on a small, quiet street in Tonopah, doing business right next to a small community bank. She had a shock of red hair that flowed down to her waist. She wore a pale blue, silk sleeveless top, and black slacks, and gold coin earrings and a matching bracelet.

The attorney, named Reeves Jenson, was delighted to hear that Ivy was providing for Damia.

"We can do this several ways. We can set up a trust, whereby the executor will be sure Damia is cared for properly for the rest of her life. We can do an annuity, which you buy now, and it pays out when it matures, reversing the money put into it for a greater amount than the money initially put in. I think a trust would be best. It would be protected if you are sued or a creditor comes after you. How much do you want to put in?"

"Five grand for now. I also want to get out of the sex worker business and open a rock 'n' roll bar. I can do that a lot longer than I can do this. I went to business school, and I think I can make a go of it, with some careful planning. I want that money to be completely separate, and in an account where it earns a lot of interest."

"Have you thought about a certificate of deposit? And when were you thinking of making the move?"

"The move can theoretically happen at any time. You never know what life will bring. Locking the money up in a CD only works for me in the short term."

"Okay, let's get Mary Whitehorse from the bank down here. I'll do the paperwork from my end, and we can get the accounts set up. Would you like to do a bank transfer?"

Ivy took out the small duffel bag and zipped it open, "The money is clipped or banded in hundreds. There is ten thousand dollars in the bag. And, before you ask, we do pay taxes, and a 401K retirement account, and insurance. This is after that."

Reeves Jenson swallowed, "All right. And my fee..."

"...It's on the bottom," said Ivy, "it's separate."

Reeves pulled out the envelope, and counted out the ten one-hundred-dollar bills, and smiled, "Now, let's get to business, shall we?"

After her appointment and signing a stack of forms, Ivy ate lunch at a casino cafe. She had a Caesar salad, and a cup of clam chowder, a Coke, and a chocolate silk pie that had her in chocoholic heaven as she sat in her seat.

Outside, she had on her shades before she left the portico. She headed to her Harley and set out for Vegas. The first realtor said she had nothing in Ivy's price range —before Ivy said anything about price. Ivy left and went to the next one, and the next.

She found a tiny realtor office in Harmon. There was a young woman there with black hair, and raisin-black eyes, and skin like pure, dark chocolate. She wore a yellow linen suit. She took one assessing look at Ivy and her Harley and shook her hand.

"Gina Jackson," she said, "commercial or residential?"

"Ivy. Commercial."

"What do you want to do?"

"I want to make a rock bar."

"Hole in the wall or upscale?"

"Blue neon, a dance floor, a stage, tables everywhere."

"I have the place for you, but it isn't ready to sell yet," said Gina, "they have a round building just off the strip. A romantic place serves frou-frou drinks for two in a pit. They're going under. If you wait three to six months, the price will be at rock bottom, and they'll sell, or lease to buy."

"How much?" asked Ivy.

Gina wrote two numbers on a strip of paper and handed it to Ivy, "The top is what it would go for now. The bottom is what I think I can get them down to when they realize they're dreaming."

"Nice," said Ivy, "most realtors wouldn't want to cut into their own commissions."

Gina shrugged, "I like realistic."

"Works for me," said Ivy, "do you want me to come back in two months?"

"Give me your digits," said Gina, "I'll give you a call when their numbers get as reasonable as I think they'll get."

"I can go twenty percent down. Maybe thirty percent. Lease to buy."

"I can work with that," said Gina.

Ivy wrote her name and number on a pad Gina offered her. Gina gave her a business card.

"Don't call anybody else," said Gina, "I'll be straight up with you when others won't."

"Already figured that out," said Ivy.

Ivy headed to the address of the round bar Gina gave her. It wasn't open. She peeked in the windows. Just as she remembered, —the pit, the pretentious bar, the stage, the dance floor, the pink-and-black motif. She figured she'd get rid of the pit, a lawsuit waiting to happen if a drunk should happen to stumble and fall in. She remembered they served overpriced finger food, so there was a kitchen. She smiled and got back on her Harley. It would do.

She stopped for a slurpee to break the heat. The asphalt baked under her feet as she drank. She decided to go to the Nighthawks clubhouse to beat the heat.

Henry was there, polishing a bike, "Ivy!" he said. "come for your patch?"

"That and some advice. I am looking at a perfect piece of real estate."

"Get flak from the realtors?"

She snorted, "Finally found an honest one who would work with me. I've got money in the bank, but not enough. I've gotta fill in a pit in the bar and switch from pink to blue and purple neon. The kitchen is fine, rest of the place needs black, purple, or blue paint, preferably a metallic. Wanna make me a rock bar."

"We've got a half-dozen members working construction. You're talking a basic remodel, not a gutting and refit."

"I also need a neon sign."

"Neon is what Vegas is," said Henry, "surely we got someone who knows how to get that. What's your time frame?"

"Seven months on the outside, four on the inside," said Ivy, "to start. Would like it up and running in two months after the start date."

"You need to add thirty percent to everything, so make it two and a half months. I can talk to some people, get some bids. Where is it?"

"That round romantic bar just off the strip on Harmon."

Henry snorted, "Why don't you get the plans from the county assessor's office, and we can firm things up."

"Where's that?" He gave her the directions.

After a dry, dusty hour finding what she needed and paying for copies, Ivy was ravenous. She stopped off at a waffle house and stuffed herself with a pecan waffle with pecan syrup, butter, and four strips of bacon, extra crispy.

Henry was still there when she returned to the clubhouse. He was picking up empty bottles and sliding them into the recycling box.

"Ivy!" he said, "I'll get Juan. He's done quite a few remodels."

They went into blessed coolness. A man and a woman were playing the world's slowest game of pool, staring at the balls as if they would roll away on their own. Henry and Ivy popped some Cokes, and she showed Henry the pit, and where she wanted the neon.

"Jorge can do the painting. These people are both the fastest and cheapest in the city. He'll do the outside, too. Mimi may know how to find someone to do the neon. She's a sculptor. She commissioned a sign for her office from somebody, I think another artist."

Juan and Jorge came in together, dusty from a ride. Ivy bought them sodas, and they looked at the plans.

"Doable," said Juan, "just bring a little mixer in, pour it, smooth it out. Take a few days to cure. The biggest cost will be in renting the little mixer. Then it will be pretty damn easy to paint. I know a guy who does neon for bars. I'll check with him on the cost of the installation."

"I know a sign guy," said Jorge, "and an etcher, too."

"Etcher, like glass?" Ivy asked.

"Yeah," he said, "that bar has floor-to-ceiling windows. Not smart. Better to etch them, get some privacy. What you want in the windows?"

Ivy thought for a minute, "Rock gods. Aerosmith, Rolling Stones, or something like that. Jimi Hendrix. Bon Jovi."

Juan smiled, "Be cool when it's up and running."

Jorge smiled, "Get me some shiny, shimmery blue, and purple, with some black paint for contrast with a transparent silver over it. I'll make it rock." Ivy clapped her hands together with excitement.

"Start date is four to seven months," said Henry, "how long you think?"

"A few weeks, at the most," said Juan. Jorge nodded.

"Then I need to find me some vendors and put in the world's' biggest liquor order. Want the good but simple stuff, no frou-frou drinks. Three or four good beers, whiskey, the range of sodas. Some primo stuff, like Johnny Walker Black."

"My sister Dulce is a liquor distributor," said Juan, "gotta get you a food and liquor license."

"Shit," said Ivy.

"Don't sweat it," said Jorge, "it would be a mess if you were opening a casino. Takes a long time to get Gaming to let you open. This is doable. Just put in for the license the same day we start filling up the hole."

She nodded, "I want a place where you, or I, or anyone would be proud to go. Relax, have a beer, listen to some great guitar riffs, dance a little, talk to friends. Not a pickup bar, a good friends bar. Someplace you go to forget the day, the week, and rock out."

"I'll work on it," said Juan, "what food you serving?"

"Bar food—poppers, nachos, sliders, loaded fries, chicken strips. Wings."

"Damn, girl, you making me hungry," Juan laughed.

"Hey," said Jorge, "why don't you have the patch?"

Henry smiled, "I was just gonna take care of that."

He walked back to the office, and came back out with a gorgeous jean jacket of soft gray leather, with silver zippers and studs along the bottom. The Nighthawks emblem rode across the back.

"Don't know if it will fit you..."

Ivy took off her battered, ancient leather jacket, and put it on the back of a chair. The new one fit her perfectly.

"Henry, I ...," she said. Her eyes filled with tears.

"Hey, is that our tat?" asked Juan. Ivy slid the leather off her shoulder to show it off, "nice," he said.

"How much is it?" asked Ivy, fingering the jacket.

"Fifty-dollar enrollment fee. Let me get the paperwork."

"That was Renee's," said Jorge, "caught her dealing drugs, and she was outta here. Threw the jacket on the floor and stomped out."

"Can't have drugs here," said Juan, "some of us got little kids in the daycare back there."

The door banged open, and Ivy turned, "What the fuck? Ace?"

Ace smiled, "I'm back!"

"Mother fucker!" said Ivy, "you quit calling after the first year!"

He smiled and winked at her.

She ran to him and, hugged him, "Asshole!"

"Sorry," he said, "bad memories and I worked two jobs and went to school."

"You know this joker?" asked Henry, coming out with the paperwork.

"He slept on my couch. Was in a foster home where they didn't count noses, and they were never home."

"My dad kicked me out," he said, "went to live with my uncle in Reno."

She punched him in the arm, "Asshole. Go without talking to me that long again, and I'll take my boot knife and put it where the sun doesn't shine."

"If you're done beating up on my rider, you can fill out your paperwork, Ivy," Henry said, dryly.

Ace helped her fill out the tiny form. She paid her fifty, got Juan's and Jorge's numbers, and took off with Ace to _Sonic_. They ordered chicken fingers, jalapeno poppers, and cherry -lime drinks and filled each other in.

"Me first," said Ace, "mine is boring. Went to Reno after I graduated. Got my associate's in automotive technology. Got jobs in construction at dawn before class and worked as a grease monkey in a bike shop after class. Went to bartending school and did that at night and bikes during the day when construction slowed. Right, then petered out in the winter. Studied until two or three am. Got my degree, did the same thing once I got my degree, only without school in the way. Came here about six months ago, been doing it here, more jobs in construction. Apprenticed as an electrical engineer, still, do the bike stuff at night. Doing both is driving me batshit crazy."

"Your uncle couldn't spring for college?"

"Said he made it on his own, I should too. Could see his point. He did set me up in an apartment and helped me with books."

"You should work for me," Ivy said, stealing one of his poppers, "I'm going to open a rock bar and call it 'Dirty Vegas.'"

"Fuck me!" said Ace, "been looking for something to invest in. My parents tried to break my trust, but my uncle made it airtight. Came into it a little back, paid off all my debts. Looking for some help getting it up and running?"

"Partners," said Ivy, brushing her hand off on her jeans, and extending it to him.

"Partners?" he said, and shook her hand, "fifty-fifty?"

"More like sixty-forty. Got to keep my daughter in her super-expensive school."

"Daughter?" He went very still.

"After you left, I got all broken up about it, partied heartily. Got really out of control. Got knocked up by some band guy."

"Which one?"

"Cover band, asshole. Not you, him. Didn't want to hear I'd gotten pregnant, said it wasn't his. Could have taken him to court, but, why? Ass like him? Anyway, my foster mom came home, got drunk, and tried to take it out on my hide. I kneed her in the gut, told her she tried to touch me again, she was losing a hand. Took my stuff and got out of there. Never looked back."

"Fuck, Ivy."

She looked out into the distance, "Died in her own bed, set it on fire when she was drunk. Took that nightmare house with it."

"Hey," said Ace, "we had some good times in that house."

She laughed, "That we did. We had the whole house to ourselves when she went away on that job to Boulder City."

"Good times," said Ace, "wanted to thank you. Couch surfing got old after Dad threw me out."

"Your dad should be in prison," said Ivy, "not that hoity-toity house. Tried to see your brother, but they wouldn't let me past the gate. How is he?"

"He's at this summer camp-type boarding school in Arizona. I went down, paid to upgrade their barn. They let me see him whenever I can ride down there. Don't want to interrupt him too much, you know. And your kid? Bet you rock as a mom."

"Not so much," said Ivy, "Damia seemed fine, then she wouldn't smile, didn't do baby talk, didn't listen to anything I said. Worked as a bartender underage, lived with another girl, Staci, another foster system runaway. We both noticed Damia's problems, but the damn doctors didn't listen to a word I said, said it was a 'phase' and she'd 'grow out of it.' I married a guy after Staci moved out. Dentist. Nice guy. Pretty house. Got Damia to doctors who weren't asses, said she had autism. Kind of locked in her own head, you know? Sensations like light or sound or her own damn baby blanket were too much for her."

"Fuck," said Ace, "I'm sorry."

"Don't worry, I'm fine... now."

He looked out at the mountains and back down at his now-empty plate, "Wish the fuck I'd bothered keeping in touch."

"Ace," said Ivy, "don't sweat it. Found the dentist in bed with two girls. Someone had turned him on to blow, and he became someone different. He felt sorry for what happened, paid for a special school for Damia. She's doing great there, loves a pony named Candy. Has a friend. Says 'hungry' in sign language. Can point out a number. All the stuff I did, all the occupational therapists and everything, didn't hold a candle to this place. So..." she said, taking a deep breath, "I started working at the Palomino Roadhouse. I'm a hooker, Ace."

"You did it for your daughter," he said, looking her in the eye, "that's being strong, Ivy. Like you've always been."

She wiped away her tears with her palms, "Got my associate's in business, been putting money away like gangbusters, whatever the school doesn't want. Just made a trust, in fact," she said, her voice losing the edge of tears, "she'll be taken care of for the rest of her life, and the money is protected forever. Gotta keep paying into it, though, for a long time."

"Hence the bar. Moneymaker."

"Yeah," said Ivy, "if you do it right. I'm thinking blue and purple neon, dark walls with a wash of silver. A stage, rock 'n' roll bands, real instruments hanging on the walls people can play. A couple of girls dancing on plinths, good beer, good liquor. Nothing more exotic than Johnny Walker Black."

"You always did like the whiskey," he said.

"Not anymore," she said, "now I drink ginger ale or cherry drinks if I gotta drink with the patrons. Went cold turkey when I found out I was pregnant, and all my money's gone into Damia's education."

"Okay," he said, breathing out. He picked up the trays and, emptied them, "Where's this bar you wanna renovate?"

"Just off the strip," she said, "you're going to love it."

They headed back toward their bikes, "You seeing anyone?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said, "club guy. Arsenal."

"Fuck me," said Ace, "PTSD. Been doing better. Henry let him back in the club. Been working on his bike with him, getting to know him. He's rock solid when he's on his meds."

"Yeah," said Ivy, putting on her helmet, "follow me."

_"Nice friend..."_

**The Nighthawks**

Henry was exhausted. They'd lost two full members. Jackson had joined the Iron Knights, not surprising since he was a paramedic, and also in the National Guard Reserve. People in law enforcement, reserve and ex-military, including paramedics, tended to flock there. Many were adrenaline junkies and loved to take a ride to someplace they could climb mountains, bungee jump off bridges, go into caves, paraglide, base jump, or skydive. The Nighthawks were far more laid back. Some would do those things, but entire trips weren't planned around that.

The lady they called Nacht, or Night, the Nighthawks had lost to the Valkyries. They were an all-women bike club, and they loved to fight. They went to renaissance fairs to go jousting, went to kickboxing and martial arts tournaments, and often did what the Iron Knights did, but in a far more, raw way. They loved freehand mountain climbing and hiking that was nearly vertical. Female law enforcement, paramedics, military reservists, and ex-military tended to go in that direction. He loved them like sisters, but they were dangerous in ways his Nighthawks were not. _Females are the most dangerous species of all_ , he thought.

Arsenal was crazy, but he was getting help. Ivy had gotten him some therapist that seemed to be doing him some good. He was on a low dose of medication, and he was a lot more informed about PTSD. He was sleeping better, and after punching a girl at a brothel and nearly punching Ivy, Arsenal seemed to finally get it... that he was a menace to himself and others.

Arsenal wanted to be a mechanic, and Henry was trying to convince him to use the GI bill to have the government pay to send him to one of the best schools in the country. One for motorcycle repair, maintenance, and assembly. But, he refused to leave Ivy, and Henry suspected that Arsenal was falling in love with the lady of the evening. That was his business if he wanted to do that. Henry had to make a decision. Give Arsenal back his jacket, because he was trying, or kick him out? He decided to shelve that one. He had a trip to plan.

The Iron Knights were going to the Great Divide in Colorado. Basically, a giant drainage ditch with spectacular scenery 2,767 miles or 4453 kilometers long, from Montana to the Mexican border. There was a wonderful scenic trail that crisscrossed the Divide. Mountain bikes could be rented with GPS (phone GPS sucked in remote areas, as any rider knew) for a fun ride. So, the idea would be to ride to a drop-off point, rent the mountain bikes, and make a loop back to the drop-off point. They would need careful planning for food, water, and gasoline; there were gasoline stations from 77 to 267 miles (124 to 43o kilometers), apart. They could even order little microSD cards to put into the GPS to be sure no riders got lost on the route.

It was a two-week trip to cover the entire divide, then they would have to circle back. Most Nighthawks had jobs; they couldn't take four weeks off. So, a loop was best. They also had to watch the weather —torrential rain could cause floods and rockslides, and there were rivers to cross. He decided to put his research into a file and email it to all the Nighthawks for a text vote.

First, he had a trail to map, through the Grand Teton National Park, and definite stops in places like deserted mines, old ghost towns, with plenty of First Nation people to visit along the way. He sent a specific text to the council to determine if there were specific First Nation people they wanted Henry to speak to on the way.

Henry wore many hats, from his Paiute Council hat, to being the Nighthawks leader with Numa. He owned a farm in the desert just over the border from Paiute land. He was getting tired of wearing so many hats, and Numa wanted to pass on the mantle to a younger woman. She had a shop to run; running like a herd with wild, motorcycle women was definitely losing its appeal.

He completed the route and probable costs per rider, and sent the file to Gregory, his second. The ex-military man loved trips, and he would be a good one to look it over. He also sent it to Numa and to Bannon. Bannon ran a security company, and he could take off when he wanted, for as long as he wanted.

He got immediate replies. The Council asked him to visit the other Paiute reservations, of course, and the Navajo, Hopi, Apache, and possibly the Yaqui if they swung through Arizona to get to New Mexico. Gregory and Bannon were figuring dates versus weather forecasts; rainy was not good during flash flood season.

Numa investigated the off-road bike rental and suggested doubling up on the way out, then spreading out to individual bikes. They could rent the bikes in Pie Town in New Mexico, and go down to Antelope Wells at the Mexican border. Then, easily swing back up to make their way to Colorado. Then, they could swing back to Pie Town on their way back, as well. So, they had a plan. It was up to him to implement it.

He left his office and went to the kitchen, and filled up several small water bottles. He put them in the soft-side cooler he had for rides. He waved goodbye to Inola, who was mucking out the barn and went to his Harley. The whole ride out to the clubhouse, he made mental plans for the trip.

Tito was in the clubhouse, installing more shelves in the kitchen/snack bar area. "Hear we're going to the Great Divide," he said, putting his hammer back in the tool belt on his hip.

"What? When?" asked Jumper. He got the name from being an ex-con, having to wear prison garb, the orange jumper prisoners wore.

Jumper had long, wavy hair that was caught in a silver clip on the back of his thick neck. He had traded a life of petty crime for weightlifting, and he competed. His bike was as huge as he was.

"Early September, we get changing leaves in the higher elevation, and it's cooler. And, less chance of a flash flood," said Henry. "But, kiddies go back to school then, so I'm thinking last two weeks of August."

"Fuckin' A," said Jumper, lifting a box of bottled drinks as easily as if it were a pile of feathers.

"Count me in," said Tito. "The boys will love it."

"We'll have to rent mountain bikes there," said Bannon, "Mostly everyone can afford it, but those who can't..."

Henry went over to Bannon, shook his hand, and slapped him on the shoulder. "Thank you, Bannon," he said.

"I can cover it," said Tito. "And the boys. Other people are slow, but we do rehabs. Steady stream of those. Flippers, especially, love us."

Flippers bought houses, townhomes or condos. They refurbished them, then sold them. They were sometimes a bitch to work because new flippers had no idea what they were doing and often vastly overshot their budgets. Tito taught them as he went along.

"Thinking of doing myself. Keep my people busy."

"Good idea," said Henry.

"I'll invest," said Bannon. "If you need front money. You know your business."

"Thanks, Bannon," said Tito. "I may take you up on that."

"I can cover it," said Jumper. He carefully put the bottles in the rack; juices, lemonades, and flavored waters. Henry ordered a tea/lemonade mix, and Jumper made the money disappear into the till.

"I can cover it," said Cheetah. She was a black woman with long brown hair, a narrow face, and hard eyes.

Cheetah was ex-military and whip-smart. She was named for her cheetah-patterned tank tops she liked to wear over her black jeans.

"I'll call Numa and help with the planning." She whipped out her phone and called. Cheetah pulled a pen and a pad out of her purse, and began making notes as the women talked; there were bursts of laughter as they made plans.

"Good idea," said Henry. "That woman is the best planner around."

"Woman could lead charges against infantry," said Tito.

Tito took out his electric drill and put up a bracket. He put a tiny level on it to make sure it was straight. Henry took a sip of his drink, screwed the top back on, and stepped over to hold the bracket still as Tito drilled the holes.

'Thanks," said Tito.

"Anytime," said Henry. He stayed to hold the bracket steady while he screwed in the screws with the electric drill.

Gregory came in, smiling, with pizza boxes in hand. "Pizza!" said Cheetah. "Sorry Numa, gotta go." She smiled, "Sit down, everyone. We've got the plan."

"Let's hear it," said Gregory. "I really want to go. I'm set."

"Rental isn't too bad," said Cheetah. "What did you bring us?"

"I brought sausage and black olives on one, veggie on number two, and the whole thing on the third one."

Jumper brought over paper plates, napkins, and drinks, and Gregory and Cheetah forked over the cash for them. Henry finished helping Tito; the shelf was perfect. Henry tried to reimburse Gregory for the pizza, but Gregory waved him off.

Those sitting outside at the picnic tables —Danger, Frake, and Jesuit (their spiritual advisor), and a really argumentative guy —came in to grab pizza. They each forked over cash for the drinks and some for the pizza. They went back out to resume their argument about the best routes through California where they could open up the bikes without getting speeding tickets.

"Do they ever stop arguing?" asked Cheetah.

"Nope," said Gregory. "They seem to like it."

Jesuit came back in. "Wait. I overheard you guys talking about a plan. Where are we going?"

"The Great Divide," said Cheetah.

"Hot damn," said Jesuit. "Time?"

"Last two weeks in August," said Tito, grabbing two pieces of sausage pizza and a Coke. He threw down cash for the drinks and pizza.

"On it," said Jesuit. "Wait, we'll have to rent off-road bikes. Cost?"

"Not bad," said Cheetah.

"Well, that's just awesome," said Jesuit. "On it." He snagged a Coke, threw down cash, and went back out to the table. He explained the trip to the others, and smiles broke out.

"Nothing brings bikers together like a road trip," said Cheetah.

"You got that right," said Henry, taking a slice of sausage and a slice of the kitchen sink one, known as, "everything but the kitchen sink."

"Fuck me blind," said Rabbit, coming in.

"No, thanks," said Cheetah.

"Maybe next week," said Gregory. They all laughed.

Rabbit, named for his excessive speed and his very furry body, had brown hair like a wiry halo and the same hair covering his arms. He threw down pizza and soda money and went for the vegetarian pizza.

"My job just ended. Fuckin' foreman." His green eyes flashed.

"Well, that sucks," said Tito. "Got some work right here. Wanna help me with the back rooms?"

"Well, sure," said Rabbit. He ate half a slice in one bite.

"We're planning the Great Divide trip," said Cheetah.

"That's fucking awesome," said Rabbit, after swallowing his pizza. "Well, count me in. When?" They told him and got down to business.

The three outside came in, and the meeting progressed in earnest. They settled on ghost towns but prudently decided not to explore old mines. Henry called Lonestar, the Texan ex-military cop. He'd been planning the trip on the Iron Knight end, and the Nighthawks planned to meet up with them in Antelope Wells. They would lose the Iron Knights when they peeled out to visit the ghost towns, but that was okay.

"Did anyone call the Valkyries?" asked Cheetah.

"Oh, shit," said Lonestar and Henry simultaneously. They got Herja, (the Pahrump Valkyrie) on the phone, and told her the plan. She laughed, gave several suggestions, and okayed the plan. The Valkyries would travel with the Iron Knights, and meet up in Antelope Springs.

"Gotta break out the tents, sleeping bags, insect repellent." Jesuit had quite the list. Cheetah wrote it down, removed ten items, and sent the list out, along with the plan, to everyone.

"It's Sunday," said Tito. "We got a ride, tonight?"

Henry almost slapped himself in the head. He'd failed to plan anything, getting caught up in the new trip. "Lake Mead?" he said. "We can camp there, in the usual spot."

"I'll call Ricki to get some stuff together," said Gregory. Ricki went by Dutchess on the road. She also ran a Western-style restaurant. Her marinated smoked ribs and seasoned burgers were amazing. Henry wordlessly handed over the club credit card.

Once they heard that Ricki was cooking, everyone wanted to go to the lake. They all stood up. Jesuit took some drinks, threw down more money, and went out to argue with Danger and Frake. Henry called Inola to tell her about both rides, and to ask her to bring up the camping gear. Tito took Rabbit to check out the back, and go over the punch list again. Gregory went home to grab his camping gear; he bought a Coke to go and munched on the last slice of veggie pizza on his way out. Cheetah smiled.

Ricki laughed. "I knew we would do something tonight. Already packed."

"Don't you have a job?" asked Jumper.

Ricki opened up her laptop. "Good a place as any to work."

She wrote paranormal romances aimed at African-Americans about werewolves and vampires. She grabbed a wet wipe and wiped her hands, she threw down more money, grabbed a Coke, and started typing.

Some rode down a few hours later, the rest staggered as people got off work. The swing shift people would arrive around one in the morning; extra food was packed for them. They flowed around the curves and went down into the very pretty, Boulder City proper. Then they hit the hill down to the lake, and the city down beneath them was a gorgeous sight.

They got to their usual campsite. The brave went swimming in the ice-cold water as the rest pitched tents and started the fire. They needed it to heat the ribs, cook the burgers and corn, and roast the peppers. They took out the folding camp chairs and tables, opened the coolers, and passed out the drinks.

They put on the radio and danced to the Eagles' _Hotel California_ on the rocky sand. They all sang at the Black Crows' _Hard to Handle_ , and the dancing got really sexy. Laughter spilled all around.

Inola came over with Numa. Inola was pissed at having to complete the chores and bring the sleeping bags and tent. Henry pitched the tent, unfolded the camp chairs, and told Inola about the plans for the Great Divide trip. He then waited on both women hand and foot, giving them the best food, bringing them their drinks. Starving hungry, Inola dug in, then stripped down and dived into the water. Numa followed at a more sedate pace.

Arsenal came alone. "Ivy had to work," he said to Henry.

"Sorry," said Henry, handing the man a soda. "How are you doing?"

"No nightmares for a while," he said. "I got real scared, let me tell you. I would never hit a woman, but I hit one in a blackout, and damn near clocked Ivy in my sleep. Had to get my head on straight, you know?" He popped the top on his soda and drank deeply.

"I know," said Henry. "It must be terrifying to do things without remembering them, and to find out you have harmed someone."

"It sucks," said Arsenal. "I used to be so proud. Best of the best, right?" He drank more soda. "Now, I've got a scarred body and a scarred brain. Kind of not fully functional, you know?"

"Everyone has times of not being fully functional," said Henry. "Hope it doesn't happen to me for a long time, but it does happen. We ride bikes. Any one of us could be injured or even killed. It just takes one driver not looking in mirrors, or hopped up on meth, or drunk, or just fucking exhausted, like so many of us are, to take us out."

"So, you're exhausted?" asked Arsenal.

"Caught that, didn't you?" asked Henry. "Yes, the club, the ranch. Got someone I care about, but he's busy training his successors. We need more people to get the ranch to do its best, but damn few people want to live in what is, for them, the middle of nowhere."

"Well," said Arsenal. "Put it down, Henry. Gregory's here, he's got this, and Numa. Just chill. Let it go."

"Present moment, huh?" said Henry. "Got to learn to take my own advice. Thank you, Arsenal," he said.

Arsenal nodded, then Henry grabbed a small sack. He went into his tent and came back out wearing swim trunks and flip-flops. He ran into the water, startling Inola and making Numa laugh. Inola shrieked and splashed him. They splashed around then floated in the water.

They came out and dried off in the desert air. The sun went down in shades of orange and magenta, and gold and magenta. They all stopped what they were doing and turned off the music to watch it go down. "Best damn sunset anywhere," said Gregory.

"Oo-rah," said Tito.

They stood there, colors bright on their faces, which were reflected in their eyes. Henry looked around. Next to him were some first tribe members who were Paiute. They included his cousin and Numa's cousin. And then was his other tribe, the Nighthawks, mingling in a way that pleased him. And, just for a few minutes, he was able to let it all go, and enjoy the sunset and the encroaching indigo dark.

_"Nice friend..."_

## 5

# Confrontation

### Looking Back

_"It's hard to look back inside yourself, sometimes."_

Ivy dreamed she was sixteen again. She was in a white truck with Ace, an ancient Ford that kept running and running, for no apparent reason. It looked like it was going to fall apart at any moment. They pounded out the rhythm to Aerosmith's _Dude Look Like a Lady,_ and Avril Lavigne's _Complicated,_ on the dashboard. They screamed songs into the wind.

Ivy and Ace worked together at the Carnivale, a little amusement park, that summer. It didn't have a giant roller coaster, but it had both flying and water rides. They served frozen drinks and potatoes in a little kiosk together, to a radio-driven rock beat.

Normally, they wouldn't mix. Ace was from the right side of the tracks, all hair with the perfect amount of product, and brand-new jeans with a fine label. His muscles ripped from the running track, and from lifting weights in a high school with a gym with new equipment. She was running from drug dealers, a drunken foster mom, and the girls that would try to jump her in the stairs. She developed a mean right hook and a twist that could get her out of any grasp. Ivy and Ace had the same ten to six shift.

He had the truck. She had the couch. She'd seen him at a McDonald's with a backpack; she knew him from the track meet. He'd run at her school, and chatted up her ex-friend Brooke.

"What the fuck you doing here? Slumming?" she asked.

"Nowhere to go," he said, shrugging his shoulders.

He turned to her; he had a bruised face, and he held his stomach like it hurt. She knew, then. She'd had it happen to her; she'd seen it with other foster kids. Someone had beaten the crap out of him.

"What the fuck?" she asked. "You forget how to run?"

He held up his shake to his face as makeshift ice. "My dad. He kicked me out."

Ace Dolan hadn't been an asshole to Brooke; he told her he wasn't dating at the moment. So, he wasn't unfair at all.

"I got a couch. My foster mom is a drunken bitch. Just use your little feet and run if she hassles you. She's usually too drunk to notice."

"Good," he said. "I need a job too."

"Don't fucking need much, do you?" she asked. He shrugged. "Come on, Dolan," she said. "Buy me a strawberry shake, and I'll get you a fucking job." So, he did, and he led her to his battered old white truck.

"Bought it off the handyman on the way out," he said. "Gonna trade it in for a motorcycle."

"Good idea," said Ivy. They sang "Hey Ya" by _Outkast_ , and she dragged him into her boss, Larry Leinheister. Larry would hire anyone with a pulse; no one wanted to pass potatoes and frozen drinks out a little hole to lines of exhausted teens, pre-teens, and moms. Larry let them play whatever they fucking wanted on the radio, and they developed some complicated dance moves. They whirled around each other, and pounded out beats on the counter during slow periods.

She brought him home, found some clean sheets, and made up the couch. They took turns showering; potatoes had a smell that would enter the couch. Ivy had a room so tiny she barely had room for a single bed and a bean bag to sit in. She crashed, wondering about this boy from much further south. Must have been a big house with... fuck, servants, he'd said. _He had a driver_ , thought Ivy. His dad tuned him up good.

They settled into a routine; up early, out before drunk mom came home and/or trashed something, or before she screamed incoherently for hours. They picked up work at a construction site, helping haul out trash to the dumpsters. It paid almost nothing, but it kept them in McDonald's. The Carnivale was only four days a week.

They found more work, sweeping and mopping the trailers at the construction site, taking out the full trash cans. Ace was like a sponge, listening to everything the construction boss (they dubbed Stressy Dave) said. Every damn thing freaked him out. Ace paid attention, and learned how to drive a nail, or hang some drywall.

Ivy had no idea what she wanted to do. She could pass high school; she wasn't stupid. She wasn't dumb enough to make her money dealing; that was a great way to get a shiv in the ribs. She could end up in much worse than juvie, charged as an adult.

She wanted to dance and rock out. She had a killer fake ID and would spend way too much time dancing. Guys liked to buy her drinks. She loved the bands, would stare at them, and think about doing it herself. But, that was no life, somewhere new every damn night, playing clubs so smoky she couldn't see, or where she couldn't breathe. Guys would pass her drinks and dance close. She let them because it helped her forget, just for a fucking moment, how much her life sucked.

Ace introduced her to lifting weights at the Boys and Girls Club, and they played ping-pong for hours on their days off. They laid around on the couches and talked about music. They both loved rock. They listened to songs on the radio, moving together. They played pool and he taught her to play poker. Son-of-a-bitch won with three aces and a pair of deuces one night; that's how he got his name, Ace. He didn't like her late nights, or the drinking, but he didn't say a thing.

He never touched her, never got rude, never pushed her around or got grabby like the guys on the dance floor. The rage bled out of her, but she held back when it came to him. His own dad hit him; she wouldn't do the same with her words.

He found a way to help her; he got her into the ring. She learned how to kickbox in that summer where the sun pounded down like a fist. It was hot like the surface of the sun in the gym, but they moved to a pounding rock beat. She learned to half-kill a bag and worked to make herself invincible.

The sex didn't last long. She came home sweaty, angry, bloody. She came in and showered, spit blood into the water. She came out, and they devoured the Mickey D's he'd brought home. With Cokes, Quarter Pounders and fries. It wasn't what she should have been eating, but fuck that.

She was so fucking tired. No one had apologized to her and meant it once in her fucking life. No one gave a fucking damn. Ace was with her, her running buddy, the one who never criticized. He didn't hit, made sure she was fed, took showers, got cool in the heat, had spending money. He fucking cared. No one else had.

Here was a guy from some swanky house —they had driven by it once. Six of the 'cracker box' house she was in would fit in it! He could have any girl. He didn't stay with school friends, didn't seem to have any. His bruises were fading, hers were self-inflicted; learning how to stay alive. He was everything she could never be, never have. He was safe, and bright, and strong, and... home. And all in a way that she couldn't articulate.

What no one had told her, or thought about telling her, was what she had to offer anyone. Including her value, or her worth. She couldn't see the light shining inside, and had nothing but invective thrown at her for years.

So, she went into her bedroom, downed two wine coolers fast, and went into the living room again. He was sitting with his feet out, finishing his shake, looking at nothing. She grabbed his face and kissed him. He kissed back, first tentatively, then harder. He grabbed the back of her head. He tasted like Coke. He smelled of boy, sweat, work, and chalk from shooting pool. From what he did when she kickboxed or went out dancing. She held up his fingers and smiled.

"You sure?" he asked.

She took his hand, put it on the swell of her breast, pressed up against him like the guys did in the clubs. He put down his cup, drew her in. They kissed for what felt like forever, then she took off her top. He stroked her gently, then she took off her bra. He held her breasts in his hands. He kissed them, sucked them.

She pulled off his shirt, then they got their jeans off in a sweaty, sticky mess. She fished a condom out of her pocket, opened it with her teeth. _Banana_ , she thought, rolling it on.

It was fast, hard, with her on top. She clenched, felt him push in, and then push out. He came first, then her. They fell back on the couch, gasping, unable to get enough of the hot air. They tumbled into the shower and she buried the condom in the bottom of the trash. She felt hot, even with cold water coursing over them.

They slept separately; no use inviting drunk foster mom to rouse them. But, they had a taste, and they fucked again two days later. It was fucking, she knew it. She went kickboxing, harder and harder, trying to kick the anger out, but it wouldn't leave. It was attached to her like a second skin.

They grew silent with each other, not even talking in the truck, but they still pounded out beats in the truck, and still danced around each other at the Carnivale.

She quit drinking for a time, concentrating on the feel of a boy on her skin. She found herself pushing harder, trying to be better at everything; pool, ping pong, kickboxing, getting orders out faster at work, even picking up nails at the construction site. She put pressure on herself when it didn't exist during that long, hot summer.

He didn't ask her to cool it, chill out, or relax. He never criticized. She knew she was being stupid, but she couldn't stop. So much hurt. It was like wearing her skin inside out. Ace was there, always there, with his long, strong arms and sweat. With the aching need she had deep inside she knew he couldn't meet.

It was hot enough to melt lead when the big truck drove up. It was blue, with nice chrome, and shiny. A man with Ace's eyes and nose got out, but he wasn't huge like Ace said his dad was. They talked outside, next to the truck. Ace came back in, then packed his little pack.

"My uncle is here. He's gonna take me to Reno. I'll call, write. I gotta go to school somewhere, and I can't crash forever." Ace gave her the keys and the registration for his truck and hugged her. "Take care of the truck," he said. "If you get in a tough spot, sell it."

He held her close, kissed her forehead, and walked away. She didn't even wave, she was so stunned. Her only friend went down the street with the cracked pavement in a blue truck. It turned, and it disappeared from her view.

She kept the truck, the last thing he gave her, for as long as she could. She slept in that truck six months later when she was kicked out, and when her pregnancy started to show. She couldn't afford the insurance, and the cops took it one night. Unfortunately, she couldn't afford to get it out of hock.

She still had that view in her mind's eye, of the blue truck going around the corner, when she awoke. The light was streaming through the split in the blackout curtain. She felt tears on her face, and let them fall. For the girl she was, for the mistake of sleeping with a friend, and for the regret that Damia wasn't Ace's child. That would have been... fantastic. She let them fall, then let that angry teen (she once was) go, once and for all.

_***_

She wondered where Ace was. She looked over, saw a note on the other bed. "Searching for the best damn breakfast sandwich in the middle of nowhere. Will bring one back for her." He was on a ride, then, and would be back soon. She texted him that she was awake, and was stunned to find half the morning gone.

She got up, stretched, got the kinks out. Daytime TV was truly awful. Instead, she played the tunes on her phone and danced to them, Guns N' Roses' _Paradise City_ , Bon Jovi's _Living on a Prayer_ , and Paramore's _Misery Business._

She heard Ace's bike roll up. He brought in a bag of the promised breakfast sandwiches, with hash browns, and Cokes. "Gimme," she said and fell on her breakfast sandwich like a wolf.

"Wish I'd ridden faster," he said, as she crammed half her hash brown into her mouth. "We ate half a bucket of popcorn last night, then you went back in the middle of the night for Milk Duds and Reese's Pieces. Damn, girl, you can still eat."

She came up for air and took a sip of her Coke. "You've fed me for years," she said. "I never did thank you for that."

"We're back to _that_ summer," he said.

"I dreamed about it," she said with a smile.

"I did too," he said. "Remember the rain?"

The thunderstorm had caught everyone by surprise, making rivers in the street. They had waded from the truck to the house, and, her foster mother gone to the bar. They made love, thunder crashing outside, wet to the bone.

"We were wetter than otters," Ivy said, smiling.

"We fucked like rabbits," he said. "I think we ran out of condoms but didn't want to swim to the convenience store to get more."

"Ace," she said.

He held up a hand. "You were hurting in ways; ways I couldn't see. I was only sixteen, Ivy. Raised by wolves."

"I wasn't raised by anyone," she said. "I was using you to fuck away my rage, and my pain."

"I was too, Ivy. I was too. I just didn't want to talk about it." He went over to her, held her tight.

"You still don't," she said, smiling into his ear.

"You are so much better at being you," said Ace. "And I fit into my skin, and on my Harley." He laughed as she demolished her sandwich and inhaled her hash brown. "Where do you want to go?" he asked, as she licked her fingers. "Back to see your daughter?"

"I can't stand to spend my whole weekends there," she said. "It's like loving a ghost with all my heart. Someone in black and white, slowly bleeding into color at the edges. She's my everything, but I have to start living," she said.

"Where do you want to go?" he repeated.

"To the edge," she said.

So, he waited while she washed up, and then they checked out. He led her out into the desert, and they really let loose. They stopped for pizza and sodas, then headed out again.

It was a long ride, but they knew the way. The sun beat down, the wind was in their hair, and they let the throttles out. They laughed and stopped for drinks at a Sonic. They went to the edge, to the Grand Canyon. They walked around, looking at it from many angles. They rode around, found another spot. They watched the Hopi dancers. Ivy bought some silver jewelry.

They rode out again and found a small town. They found a little place to eat, a hole in the wall joint. They had burgers, onion rings and sodas. They wandered around, completely relaxed, laughing.

"Can't wait until we buy the bar," he said.

"Amen," she said. "I've got to find me some bands."

"Easy enough," said Ace.

He called up local bands, then found videos on websites. They eliminated a dozen before they found one they liked, a rock cover band. They talked about the stage, the lighting, and all the things they would need. They talked cooks and about a menu. They discussed the liquors, deciding to work off the KISS principle —Keep it Simple, Sunshine (instead of Stupid), for the last word of the phrase. They made notes on their cell phones.

She got into wall colors and fixtures, and his background in construction stood him in good stead. They decided to go dark, with blues and blacks, and chrome.

"It's going to look like it would if you wrapped a Harley around yourself," said Ace.

"My god," said Ivy. "That's exactly what I want."

They figured out finances, rent, salaries, and taxes. "This can be very profitable," said Ace. "Got some damn good cash flow going on, once people know about us. We gotta tell all —well, most of the riding clubs. Don't want the furniture-smashing ones in there."

"At least not every night," said Ivy.

"Need a good bouncer," said Ace.

"No fucking kidding," said Ivy. They brainstormed some more, figuring out about liquor and food service licenses, inspections, and every other little cost they could think of.

"You know this is Vegas. Some idiot may come by to demand protection money from us."

Ivy laughed. "I hope no one is stupid enough to demand protection money from a biker bar."

"Baseball bats," said Ace, adding in the expense of some Louisville Sluggers. They played with some numbers. They got it nailed down, then they hit the road again.

They headed back toward the Palomino and rode until they were too tired. Ivy chose another hotel. They hit up Sonic, ordered half the menu, took it back to the hotel, and checked in. They watched movies, found controllers and played video games, and laughed like hyenas. They listened to a driving rock beat from Ivy's phone and blasted aliens until dawn.

He rode with her to the back door, where Arsenal waited, leaning on his bike. They put away their helmets, and Ace took Ivy's hand.

"She's all yours," said Ace. Arsenal nodded, reached out, shook Ace's hand. Ace turned away, and Ivy reached out for Arsenal's hand. He bent down and kissed her. Ace got on his bike and rode away.

_"It's hard to look back inside yourself, sometimes."_

## 6

# Confrontation with the Blacksnakes

### Not Happening

_" Confrontations aren't always easy."_

She brought him to see Gina Jackson, the realtor, "Give me some time," she said, "that place is dead even on Friday nights."

"Here's my number," said Ace, writing it down on a sticky note he found on Gina's desk, "we've got guys ready to renovate. Give me a bank account number, and the owners will have their down payment as soon as we sign the She brought him paperwork."

"You partners?" asked Gina.

"You bet!" said Ace with a grin.

Gina reached into her desk, brought out cards, and handed one each to Ace and Ivy, "This here's Charmaine DeFleur. She's sharp. She'll get you your partnership agreement, your business license, walk you through your food and liquor licenses. Help hire you some great cooks, too. She's a lawyer, and she owns two restaurants."

"We'll meet with her today," said Ivy. They called, got an appointment, and went right over.

One mind-numbing and expensive appointment later, they were on the road to get Ivy back to the Palomino. They blasted Poison, and Def Leppard, and Tom Petty, and Steppenwolf.

They stopped for gas. The wind was picking up. They heard the roar long before they saw them, —eleven riders. Ivy's heart nearly stopped when she saw a face tattooed as a skull under a bucket helmet. Ivy poked around in her saddlebags. Under her old black jacket, she'd stuffed in her saddlebags was a gun, a Glock 22. She palmed it, and slipped it into the jacket, and secured the saddlebag. She willed the gas to fill the tank faster. She palmed a throwing knife, knelt, and slipped it in her boot.

Ace came out with two cans of Coke. He held them in one hand. The other went into his pocket. The riders came roaring in. Their pumps stopped. Ivy put each one back up.

"You in our spots," said Claw, getting off his bike.

"Moving the bikes now," said Ace easily, stowing the Coke cans in his other pocket. Ivy started moving hers out of the way.

An angry bantam rooster of a woman came at Ivy, —red hair, red face. She had coiled, black snake tattoos crawling up her neck over the edge of her studded leather jacket.

"Hey! Bitch! You got something belongs to me!"

Ivy stopped moving the bike, stepped away from it, hands in her pockets, "You must be Renee. Last I heard, you threw this on the ground and stomped off like a child."

"That true?" said Skeleton, coming up behind her, "you disrespect your colors?"

"Henry kicked me out!"

Ace finished moving his bike and went over to move Ivy's.

"She was selling meth. You wanna snort it with a straw, fine! But she was possessing and selling it six feet from a daycare we got in the club." He effortlessly moved the bike out of the way, then came to stand behind and to the right of Ivy.

Claw came over, "You give my woman back her jacket?"

Skeleton held out his arm, "Banshee here sold meth near kids. And she disrespected her colors."

Claw's hand came out of nowhere, backhanding Banshee to the ground, "Dumbass bitch," he said.

Ivy had a knife out of her boot with one hand and the Glock pointed at Claw's head, "You hit a woman in front of me again, I'll poke you full of holes."

Skeleton waved his hand backwards. The knives that had appeared behind him went back into their sheaths, "Gonna do you a solid, girl, and pretend this never happened."

"Good idea," said Ivy.

He looked down at Banshee, who was beginning to stand, wiping the blood from her lips, "Lesson over. Get back to your bike."

Ivy put the gun away, but not the knife. Ace handed her a Coke, and she put it in her pocket.

Claw took a menacing step forward, but Skeleton tossed his head towards Claw's bike, "Your pump's ready," he said.

"You gonna let this bitch..."

Skeleton smiled, the smile never reaching his cold eyes, "She's a good lay. It'd be like destroying a masterpiece, if you mess with that."

Claw snorted and turned away. Ivy put the knife back in her boot.

Skeleton took a step toward her and looked down at her, "You fierce, girl, but suicidal. You would do well to be with us."

"Thanks for the offer, Skeleton," said Ivy, "but I've got a family here."

"This your brother?" asked Skeleton.

"Yeah, in more ways than one. Ace, meet Skeleton."

Ace nodded. Skeleton nodded back, "Why didn't you draw when your sister did? Didn't want to back her play?"

Ace smiled widely, "Ivy has always been able to handle herself. Nearly put her foster mother in the hospital when the bitch came at her."

Skeleton smiled again, "This one's a keeper," he said, "open roads..."

"Open roads," said Ace. Skeleton turned, and they got on their bikes and rode away.

Ivy and Ace headed out and turned off the highway to use the back way to get to the Palomino. When they couldn't see, or hear the highway, Ace pulled over, and so did Ivy. They both got off their bikes, took off their helmets, and popped their Cokes. Ivy took two attempts to pop hers, and her hands were shaking.

"Fuckin' A, Ivy," said Ace, he drank deeply.

"Yeah," said Ivy.

"The Blacksnakes came to the Palomino, didn't they?"

She nodded, "Not our usual fare. Usually we get x-ray techs and miners and cowboys, and, if we get a club, we get riders who are on vacation, just passing through. My idiot boss Di let them in. They spent money like water. Claw there nearly took the head off one of the girls, Thanda. She was trying to get money to send her kids to college, one girl and one boy, both going to schools out of state. Ended up at another ranch. Makes more money there, I hear."

They sipped their Cokes, "Arsenal hit a girl, I hear. Henry said he made amends."

"Yeah," said Ivy, "apologized and bought her a bag. She loves that bag."

"Cool."

She smiled, "Warmed up to him after that. He treats her, and all the girls there, like glass. He's super polite, protective."

"Kind of like a lion with the thorn removed from his paw," said Ace.

"Yeah," said Ivy, "I'll tell him you said that. He'll like that."

They finished their Cokes and crushed the cans. Ace put them in a plastic bag he used for trash and put the bag in his saddlebags. They mounted up, and he took her back to the Palomino in gusty wind, with sand obscuring their vision.

"Want to come in?" Ivy said, at the gate.

"No," he said, "this is your world."

**_Sistas Doing It for Themselves_**

Lissa wanted her room to look like Ivy's. Hers was smaller, but it had possibilities. Ivy took her to Vegas and the surrounding areas to see some used furniture stores for the columns to hide the wardrobes; then she helped her pick out a wardrobe for her clothes and an ugly (but very strong) shelving unit. She took her to a home supply store for rings, hooks, an electric stapler, grommets, a hammer, a stepladder, tarps, gloves, a mask, and spray paint in gold and silver. Then a soft carpet in maroon. She took Lissa to her favorite fabric stores, and they got some gorgeous silver fabric; some gold, and some metallic maroon with thin gold stripes for the walls, and fabric glue. Lissa gasped at the bills, but Ivy made her hand over the money. They carried it out to the truck Lissa had rented for the day. They filled up the cab, one bag at a time.

"You are supermodel gorgeous," said Ivy, "your room should respect that. Make yourself into a queen, get paid like one."

"Di says you get paid the most. It's not that you have the most dates. I've noticed that."

"No," Ivy said, "but I know what I'm worth. And I'm adaptable. I can be the rock 'n' roll girl. Clients like that. Marybelle plays the giggling southern girl, all charm. She charms them right into the Prada and Donna Karan she likes so much. She's got a storage place she puts it all in, —climate controlled, every shoe in its box, everything hung up just so."

"What's she going to do with all that stuff?"

Ivy smiled, "I figured it out. She wants to open her own high-end used clothing store."

"Get out!" said Lissa, "really?"

"Don't let that southern charm and idiotic patter fool you. Girl's as sharp as they come."

They got in the truck, "Lunchtime," said Ivy, "Greek? Italian? Ethiopian? Sushi?"

"Sushi!" said Lissa.

They had a Watermelon Boat, a half watermelon covered with sushi, "What about Jazz?" asked Lissa.

"Sick mom in Thailand, sending her brother and sister through school. Her mom is getting better, though. Jazz bought her a special sewing machine and she's taking courses at someplace there on how to make expensive dresses for designers at home. She's also growing fruit trees in pots and selling the fruit."

"Cool," said Lissa, who speared a salmon roll, "and you?"

"Looking into buying a bar. Not a done deal, at all, so Di doesn't know yet."

She ate a California roll, savoring the crabmeat and cucumber combo.

"Teach me everything you know before you go," said Lissa.

"Wait," said Ivy, "what's your story?"

"Very simple," said Lissa, "singing, modeling, dance. Paid a lot of money for a lot of lessons. Never quite good enough to be picked up by anyone. Turned some tricks, found out I could make more money a lot faster that way. Ditched Big Mike, he was my pimp, by moving all the way out here with you all."

"You gotta have an endgame," said Ivy, "some type of plan. I went back to school, got my associate's in business. Don't tell Di, but I'm learning about running a bar from Dion and cooking from Ky. If Di catches me, I tell her I was helping out for a minute. I came back late after a semester, from a two-week bartending course. The cooking school is major expensive. I just want to serve ordinary bar food anyway, —sliders and fries and poppers and stuff."

"Like Sonic?" asked Lissa, who snagged a piece of crab sushi.

"Yeah," said Ivy, "but with adult drinks!" They both laughed.

"I never thought past getting discovered," said Lissa, "now I'm too old."

"Fuck that shit," said Ivy, "you're fabulous. What about a hair or nail salon? Or a studio that does classes in acting and singing and dance?"

"The studio sounds nice," said Lissa. She laughed, "I've taken enough classes, I could sure teach them!"

"Take some business classes, too," said Ivy, "you don't want anyone taking you for a ride."

Lissa laughed as Ivy drank some miso soup, "Already done that, bought the T-shirt."

"I know a great realtor," said Ivy, "when you're ready to buy studio space. And someone to help you invest your money."

Lissa laughed, "You gonna make me an empire girl?!"

"Good plan," said Ivy.

"You gonna tell me how to get the best dates?" asked Lissa.

"First, figure out how to dress. Bikers like a little leather. Doctors like lace. Or, get creative, do both."

Lissa laughed, "Got it!"

"Have costumes in your wardrobe. The cheerleader one works well. Have glasses and a plaid skirt... and a white shirt, too."

"Ooh, seen that movie. Schoolgirl, right, with pigtails?"

Ivy laughed, "I use red glasses for that one. And your leathers can be a dominatrix one. And don't wear spike heels, no matter what Di says. They can get caught on carpets, and you can break something. I wear Capezios."

"I noticed that. Dance shoes, right?"

"Yeah," said Ivy, "oh and don't be afraid to dance and rock out, or shoot pool, or play poker with the clients."

"Okay."

She shrugged, "Might as well enjoy yourself!"

"Amen, sister!" said Lissa. They both laughed.

They spent a long afternoon dressed up in torn jeans and ancient T-shirts to work in the room. Some clients heard the noise and walked around to watch.

"Hey," said a guy they'd never seen before, in black leathers. He was black, with gray eyes and long fingers, "I'm Jackson. What you ladies up to?"

Ivy stood and, smiled, "You wanna watch, you pay."

"How much?" asked Jackson.

"Twenty each. Then you get to choose which one of us to date, 'cos you were here first."

A man built like a long, black string bean, with ripped jeans and corded shoulders, walked up behind his buddy, "What you doing, Jackson?" he asked.

"Hey, Holt," he said, "I was just getting to know these ladies."

He took out a twenty and laid it on the edge of the tarp. Holt, confused, did the same thing. Ivy passed out masks, and suggested they stand back. Ivy and Lissa blew off the extra grit from sanding the columns, the bookshelf, and armoire. The men laughed as both Ivy and Lissa put on masks and gloves and eye protection. They picked up the silver spray paint, shaking it back and forth, and Lissa picked up the gold. They attacked the furniture, using smooth, even moves, with a lot of excess hip-shaking and leg movements. The guys put on the masks, stood back, and watched. They watched as the girls completed the first coat.

Ivy stood back, smiling, and put down her spray can. She stripped off her gloves and eyewear.

"We're dirty, boys. You want to help us get clean, it's a hundred an hour, and two free drinks."

Holt laughed, "Three drinks and an appetizer. Hear you guys serve food. I'm hungry."

"Three drinks, two appetizers each. A hundred-and-twenty-five an hour," said Lissa. Ivy smiled back at her, impressed.

Holt reached into a pocket and took out two hundred, "What does the extra seventy-five get me?"

"Let's find out," said Lissa. Jackson couldn't get his money out fast enough.

They had the first round of drinks, and sliders, and fries at the bar. The girls kicked off their ancient tennis shoes, and took the men, sock-footed, to the bath. They sipped drinks and laughed before Lissa ordered the men to "wash themselves good."

The clothes came off and were hung up on hooks over the door, and Lissa had fun making the men condition her hair right. They had sex on the edge of the Jacuzzi. Once again, Ivy was happy that she had remembered to stock the wooden condom box there. They both ended up on opposite walls, Ivy taking Jackson seated, facing him, stroking his back as he slid inside her, groaning as she rose and fell, using his shoulders for leverage.

Lissa took Holt on the low shelf separating the showers from the Jacuzzi. Everyone showered again and had fun toweling each other dry. They shot pool and danced. Holt and Jackson left, joking with each other as to who was the better lover after Ivy gave them cans of Coke for the road.

Di groaned about them working on their days off, but the other girls were busy with a group of doctor bikers. She took the money with ill grace and went back to doing the books.

Ivy and Lissa tied their hair back, put their shoes back on, and went out to spray everything out back on the tarp with a clear sealant. Then, they went back to Lissa's room. Ivy taught Lissa how to pound grommets into the fabric to be hung on hooks, and how to use fabric glue to paste the fabric on the walls. They wore masks and glasses so they didn't die from the fumes. They used the gun to tack up the edges and worked their way down.

They took a break for dinner, barely able to move their arms, "That be super stinky," said Lissa, chowing down on grilled chicken and veggies smothered in a cheese sauce.

Ivy sipped her Coke and spoke cutting up her own chicken, "You can stay with me tonight," she said, "bed's big enough!" They both laughed.

Di popped her head in when Ivy and Lissa were putting their plates in the dishwasher, "We need you," she said, "got some ladies wanting other ladies."

Ivy snorted, "You said you didn't want us working on our days off," she said.

Di flipped her off and stalked back to the front. Ivy laughed.

"Clean sex again?" asked Lissa.

"No," said Ivy, "we treat them like queens."

She ran back, and put on a soft, silk, chemise in blue, and put on makeup, —a rush job. Lissa wore a soft silk peignoir in pink and a matching soft silk chemise. Her makeup was flawless. They both wore their Capezios.

The ladies were from a lesbian bar, tired of dating each other, wanting more. There was a doctor, an accountant, an x-ray tech, and a professional dancer, —all black and Asian women.

Ivy and Di fussed over them, got them drinks, talked about hair and nails and the baking summer heat; they laughed about nothing. They went to Ivy's room, after conning Ky and Dion into moving two of the smaller red couches in there. Ivy played her softer rock, and they made it a girl's night, —hair and nails and drinks... and increasing nudity. They all took off their shoes. The accountant, Mindy, talked about how much she hated her job. Avanti, the doctor, suggested they not talk about work. Ivy kissed Mindy, and took her to the bed, and massaged her shoulders. Avanti joined them.

"I'm sorry, Mindy," she said, "Sweetie, I'm just here to forget about all that."

Mindy kissed Avanti, "I know," she said, "I'm an idiot!"

They kissed, long and languid and slow. Ivy left them to it, and put on some Sting, taking it down a notch.

"Come back," called Avanti. Ivy climbed back in bed with them.

They touched one another, long and slow and sensual. Ivy vaguely registered that Lissa had called for a bottle of champagne and strawberries dipped in chocolate, but she forgot all of that in the slow build of pleasure. Ivy lay behind Mindy, stroking her back, while Avanti spread her legs, and licked her thighs in slow circles, making her arch and moan.

Ivy smelled the sharp smell of nail polish. She hoped Lissa was using her own, not hers, but she hadn't heard the door open if she did. Avanti kissed Mindy's clit, and Mindy swallowed a scream of pleasure. Ivy kissed Mindy deeply, thrusting her tongue in and out, kissing her neck and shoulders. Mindy came with a cry, and Avanti rolled over. Ivy reached over her head for wipes and wiped down Mindy.

Ivy came out from behind Mindy, and Avanti took her place on her back. Ivy kissed them both, and Mindy languidly stroked Avanti's hair. Ivy used flicks of her tongue to explore Avanti's body, smiling at her moans of pleasure. She kissed her mouth again, then sucked each breast, then explored her stomach. She reached down and cupped her hand over her clitoris, finding the little button with her finger. She licked and tongued her way down. She made Avanti cum, back arching. Mindy kissed her. Ivy went farther down, exploring the other woman with her tongue. Avanti came, again and again.

"Hey," said Lissa, handing Ivy a Coke, when Ivy came up for air, "you're hogging the bed."

Ivy got up, put her Coke on the floor, and put on a thong and a see-through cami top, both in purple. She stole a pillow and reclined on the floor as Lissa and her two ladies, Jenna and LaDonna, bit and licked each other on the bed.

The ladies helped themselves to champagne, (Ivy her Coke), and strawberries, while reclining on the couch, laughing. Mindy was languid, slow, but Avanti was energized. She took a bottle of almond oil from a basket in the corner and rubbed it on Mindy's feet. She selected a shimmery pink nail polish from what, to Ivy's relief, was Lissa's box of nail goodies and cosmetics, and painted Mindy's toenails.

Ivy took a brand-new nail buffer out of its plastic and buffed Mindy's nails. Avanti came through with the nail polish for the other hand, and then a top coat. Mindy relaxed, sipping champagne from whatever hand wasn't being worked on.

"My god," she said, "I've got to do this more often."

"Once a month," said Avanti, "we'll come together." They all laughed.

"Sorry about the small space," said Ivy, "we're giving Lissa's room a makeover, and it will be even better than this one when finished," she said.

"Excellent," said Avanti, holding out her glass for Ivy to top up, "we'll come back, then."

"Champagne's out," said Ivy. Both women made pouty faces. She reached back and found her phone on the floor, "more strawberries? Wait, Ky made a key lime pie."

"Pie?" said Avanti and Mindy. Ivy ordered it.

Ky, dressed in black pants and a mesh shirt, came in with cherry champagne under his arms, and a silver tray, and a tiny table with bites of chocolate silk. Then raspberry cheesecake, and key lime pies interspersed with little squares of caramel chocolates.

"Oh. My. God," said Avanti, "I'm moving in!" They laughed.

Ivy topped off their glasses, "To decadence!" said Avanti.

"To decadence!" said Ivy and Mindy. They touched glasses and drank.

It took hours, but finally, they wore the women out. They put on peignoirs, helped them dress, and took them back, giggling, with another bottle of champagne and fresh glasses, to the Lincoln for Damian to drive them home. They both showered, blow-dried their hair, and wrapped themselves in robes. They stopped by Di's office. She handed them six hundred, each. They locked the money in their separate floor safes, and backed out, stumbling with exhaustion.

Ivan was in Ivy's room, taking out the emptied bottles and glasses, the now-empty tray and table he took away.

"Bless you," said Ivy, "who changed the sheets? And the pillowcases?"

"I did," said Ivan, "I hope I did well."

Lissa laughed, "Boyfriend, you rock."

"Thank you," said Ivan, blushing, "I will let you ladies sleep." He carefully maneuvered out the door.

"Fuck me," said Lissa, "I can't move."

**_The Great Divide_**

Arsenal picked her up for the Great Divide trip the minute her next day off began, after a night of lawyers, strip poker, and banging two "at once" in the Jacuzzi. She was exhausted but clear-headed. Ky made her two gorgeous BLT sandwiches, on artisan bread made with tiny bits of goat cheese, grilled. He put the sandwiches in a hot bag, and the Cokes and flavored waters in a cold bag.

"We're early," Arsenal said. "The rest of them will be in Pie Town tomorrow, so we have the day together."

"They cool with me only going for a week?"

"Awesomely cool," he said. "I've got to peel off in Colorado anyway to go to Harley school. Was gonna go to the edge of the state, then head back. Then, Bonnie wanted to head up there to see her friends, so we're going on a side trip. Lots of the Valkyries and some of the Iron Knights are taking the side trip too."

"I'll head up there, too," she said. "Then put the metal down to get back here. Gotta keep the doctors, lawyers and medical conventioneers happy. We get hopping when the electronics one comes in; the triple-x industry isn't stupid. They have theirs at the same time. We get overflow from both."

He laughed. "Shall we?"

"We shall," she said.

They rode side by side, listening to road music on their mics — _Born to Be Wild_ , _Summer of '69_ , _Bad to the Bone_ , and _Running Down a Dream_. They rode through Boulder City, and let it out when they hit Kingman, Arizona. They took the I-40, crossing the state well above Phoenix. They flew across the desert, and flowed like the wind was at their backs.

They stopped at a rest stop and had the sandwiches and Cokes at a picnic table. "Oh my god," said Arsenal. "This is the best fucking BLT in creation. How does Ky do this? And, can you steal him for your club?"

"'Fraid not," said Ivy, sipping her Coke. "He doesn't want to leave, and he gets more variety this way. My club will have basic bar food, nothing fancy. Just jalapeno poppers, chicken fingers, fries, that kind of thing. And great beer and whiskey. Be the kind of bar where you can come in your leather, dance, eat, drink, and have a really good time. See all your buddies from the road."

"All that mixing, bound to be fights," said Arsenal.

"Probably," she said. "But the furniture won't be new. There are several consignment shops that sell stuff from closed bars. Some bars stay open three weeks and they close. Try to be too fucking pretentious. No fru-fru drinks for my place. Just good food, great drinks, great music that rocks." She hummed _Every Day is a Winding Road._

He laughed at her song choice. "It definitely is."

They listened to that one and much more. They sang into the wind and danced their Harleys down the four-lane highway. The mountains rose in red-and-brown topped glory, the mesas stark against the sky. The sky was the absolute blue of summer, and they wore shades pulled on tight to keep the glare off their retinas. They stopped at more than one gorgeous rock formation and took pictures. They stopped at one overlook with a convenient rest stop nearby.

"Why did you choose the Colorado school?" asked Ivy, as they stared out at the gorgeous ocher and gray view, the land wrinkled like the back of a tortoise.

"Best of the best," he said, then snorted. "And they took my G.I. bill, so Uncle Sam will pay for most of it. Still, I'll have to work like a dog. I am so fucking lucky I'm in the Nighthawks. Bonnie's got friends fucking everywhere. Just out of town is a little Harley repair shop where I'll be working nights. Gonna be one exhausted fucker, but things will get better for us then." He kissed her head.

"A year of separation still sucks," said Ivy. "But, I'll be busy with the bar, getting it up and running. Wouldn't have time to see you, even if you were in Vegas... _when_ I get there."

They kissed for a long time until they got hot and were driven into the restrooms to wash up. Ivy came out, found her man, and kissed him.

He pulled her close. "Gonna really suck being separated for a year. Gonna take classes and work right through the summer, want to get it all done as fast as I can."

"But think of the separation sex," she said. He laughed. "It will be amazing."

"One of the perks of dating a soon-to-be-ex lady of the night is, we can have the most inventive sex of anyone out there."

She laughed. "Don't think I'll get tired of the plain vanilla sex."

"What's that?" he asked, leering at her. She punched his arm, and they got back on their bikes. They got back on the road. They listened to _Life Is a Highway_ , screaming the lyrics into the wind.

They got up into the mountains to the wonderful coolness and scent of pine. They stopped to walk paths through the trees. They never stopped touching each other; kissing, holding hands.

"Damn," said Arsenal, catching his breath after a mind-bending kiss. "You are amazing, woman. I have PTSD, I'm on medication so I don't try to clock you in my sleep. I'm gonna be poor as a church mouse for about a year and a half, and we're gonna be separated for a year. What the fuck is a fine woman like you doing with an asshole like me?"

"Always did like the dangerous boys," said Ivy. "Tried to find safe, then got smashed into the ground by the 'nice guy.'" She made air quotes with her fingers.

"I can take him out for you," said Arsenal. "Take him out here, let him try to find his way home with no phone and no money."

She breathed a sigh of relief. Not a death threat, but more of a serious inconvenience. She thought about it. "Be kinda fun, actually, until you ended up in prison for kidnapping across state lines. Be federal charges."

"Yeah, I guess."

She kissed him. "Hear he's married again, and that the bitch he's married to has a heart of stone and spends his money faster than he makes it. He likes to look good, but he doesn't feel good." She shivered at the sudden seriousness. "Man like that, putting on airs, trying to spend his way into other people liking him. It's all fake, all stupid. Waste of money and time... and people's hearts."

Arsenal kissed her deeply. "We'll never be like that, never fake. Hell, I'm gonna be a grease monkey. Nothing fake about that." He kissed her again, pulled her close. "I can get you the house, whatever the fuck you want. Take me a long time, but I can get it. Tell me what you want, I'll get it."

She breathed the forest air. "Dumb bunny. This is what I want, right now. Cruising down the highway, stopping wherever we want, making love tonight in a tent. Present moment, dude. And, I can make my own fucking money. Be just as busy as you, maybe busier."

"Want rug rats?" he asked.

"Rug rats," she laughed. "Yes, I want kids. Two, maybe three. Hell, I'm even willing to adopt. Just, whatever the fuck happens, you know?" They kissed again. "I'm hungry," said Ivy.

Arsenal laughed. "I gotta buy stock in waffle houses and Mickey D's. Girl, you eat more than me."

She swayed against his body. "You want one of them skinny bitches?"

"Hell, no," he said, holding her hips. "They don't have curves. This is the way I like my women." They kissed again. They walked back to the bikes and listened to the always-apt, _Where the Streets Have No Name._

They found a waffle house, and Ivy surprised him by ordering apple pancakes with cinnamon and pecan syrup. With extra-crispy bacon, and a tall orange juice. Then, she downed the orange juice and ordered Coke. He had a burger, making her laugh.

They arrived at Pie Town when Ivy was starting to get hungry again. She made him double over laughing because she ordered pie for dinner; key lime, caramel apple, and chocolate silk. He ordered a steak and a baked potato, and had his pie for dessert. It was an ordinary cherry pie, making her laugh.

They decided against a tent. It was fucking hot, with a desiccated wind that could turn you into a skeleton in minutes. They found a nice place with ice-cold air conditioning. They found a convenience store with a microwave, and popped popcorn. They got both icy drinks, flavored waters, Ivy's Coke, and boxes of candy.

They ordered movies on Pay Per View as the sun thundered down in a rush of red, gold, bronze, and peach. They watched an action movie, then Ivy found Easy Rider, Road to Paloma, then Ghost Rider.

They kissed, hugged, touched, stroked. Every sexy scene in the movies they watched led to Ivy tearing a condom wrapper open with her teeth. First, she was on top, then him, then they were somehow rolling off the bed and fucking on top of the coverlet. They knocked over a lamp, bruised their elbows, and ended up in the shower slamming each other against the walls. They finally turned off the television and stared into each other's eyes.

"Why do you want to work on bikes?" she asked, her leg over his hip.

He was stroking her leg slowly with the tips of his fingers, making her crinkle her eyes with pleasure. They were up early, after long, languid sex in the dark, sleeping naked on the sheets in a nest.

"I want to do something with my hands, you know?" he said. "I've been hanging out with Bonnie. She said I should do it. Be busy, she said. I can do all sorts of things. I can repair bikes, buy and refurbish, build my own custom bikes. Start at the beginning, find out what the fuck I like, do that." He smiled at her, kissed the tip of her nose. "Why do you want to run a bar? You don't get drunk, woman!"

"Gotta keep my head," she said. "It's like this. I know how to pour a drink, how to fill up a tray, how to keep up a pattern. I know how to run a business. I am a business. Di may think she owns me, but I'm just a contractor. I do what I want, when I want. I've told her to go to hell more than once when I was too damn tired to take another client, or when I didn't like the client. I love to dance, and to rock out."

"Get your groove on," he said, stroking her butt.

"Exactly," she said. "Be fucking hard, but I know I can make it work. Get everything up and running, and Ace can run it for me. If we want, we can hire someone else, so we can go on rides, do whatever the fuck we want."

"Okay," he said. They kissed. "I hate to say this, but greeting the Nighthawks butt naked probably won't go over well."

She laughed. "They may expect it from me, but not you. Besides, a naked butt on a hot leather seat is not a good thing."

He grimaced at the image, got her up, and dragged her into the shower. They got clean, and managed not to fuck again. They made it out of the shower, dressed, threw away the trash, checked out, and went to find some food.

"What you want, girl?" asked Arsenal. "More waffles?"

She stretched, long and lean, like a cat, and reached for her helmet. "I want pie for breakfast," she said.

"Of course you do," he said, laughing.

Henry and a thundering herd of Nighthawks met them there, and they ordered their own pie. They got sandwiches and drinks to go, and made their way to the off-road motorcycle rental, except for Arsenal and Ivy, who would both veer off if they had to. They would be leaving the trail earlier than the others. They crossed the highway to meet up with the Iron Knights and Valkyries.

"Right on time," said Henry, as they blasted through, Valkyries in the lead. They fit themselves into the line, listening to _Rock Star_ , _Dude Looks Like a Lady_ , and Lenny Kravitz' _American Woman_.

They rode through a stunning landscape. Everything was clearly delineated in the golden light of dawn. They saw black basalt, desert, mountain pine, and stunning greens. All leading up to mesas that thrust up, into the sky. They were stunned to find trees turning gold at the top of the mountains, with fall coming early. They rode through a tunnel of gold, astonished by the beauty.

Arsenal and Ivy had to veer off twice, but were able to meet the others with no real trouble. The steep climbs and switchbacks were challenging but extremely fun for the experienced riders from all three riding clubs.

They saw the javelinas —wild pigs, in New Mexico, and hawks and eagles flowing overhead. The wilderness areas were vast and pristine.

At night, they carefully pitched their tents and had bonfires in specific designated areas, following all directions clearly. All three riding clubs mixed freely. The Valkyries making very raunchy jokes with the Iron Knights, with Henry and Numa running up and down the line to talk to everyone.

Numa dragged Ivy with her, leaving Arsenal alone to shoot the shit with Ace, Gregory, and half the Nighthawks. Jesuit argued with everybody. They roasted burgers and hot dogs, ate chips, and hung their food in trees to avoid bears.

They talked deep into the night, and were up in a few hours, putting out the three fires. They spent time breaking down the tents and filling up on breakfast bars, consisting of oatmeal with dried fruit and nuts, and coffee. They kept a good pace. They all decided to see a ghost town, and had some fun wandering around, looking in the empty buildings and taking photos. The ghost town was a remnant of the mining history of New Mexico.

They took advantage of a restaurant and a gas station/convenience store that was in the middle of nowhere, by the side of the road. They fueled up on sandwiches, actual gas to top off the bikes, and loaded up on sandwiches, chips, and drinks... all so they wouldn't need a fire. They headed back to the trail, listening to OneRepublic's _Counting Stars,_ _Best Day of My Life_ by American Authors, and the Boss' _Born to Run._ They traveled up and up, then back down. They had sandwiches and sodas for lunch, then the Nighthawks said goodbye, and veered off to hit up several reservations.

Henry, Numa and Inola met up with tribal councils and one inter-tribal one as the others ran up and down the back roads. They were hitting up res stands for fry bread, tacos, water, and silver jewelry on display. Men bought skull rings, making the women laugh, and they all bought a lot of turquoise.

They rode back and stayed in a lodge on the edge of one of the reservations. "What the fuck was that all about?" asked Arsenal.

More politely, Ace asked, "Maintaining good relations?"

"It's a lot more than that," said Henry. "We are all feeling despair. Our young ones need a better education, and if they get it, they leave the res. They lose their language, their culture, and what makes them part of their Nation. Many never graduate from high school, making job prospects even worse. They need skills, trades."

Gregory was the first one to see it. "And, you have a horse farm, and you might need some ranch hands."

Henry inclined his head. "It's a pilot program. The others have a wait-and-see attitude, to see if it will work or not. Las Vegas is very far away from here, and has its own dangers."

Inola nodded. "I found what I desire to do. I love horses, every aspect of them, training them. We take in abused ones, get them over their fear and pain, get them back to health. This can work elsewhere. Some kids can get their GED, learn a trade, and work on the farm."

Tito spoke up. "I can always use new ones, learning construction. This is such a fickle business. People here today, hear about a job, gone tomorrow. We're losing people to South Dakota in the summer, they come back in winter, or head to Florida. I like to do rehabs all year round, keep everybody working. There's so much to learn —demo, electrical, tile, installing drywall, floors, installing cabinets."

Bonnie spoke up. "I don't know how, 'cause I'm losing Gregory, but if someone wants to be a grease monkey, I can teach 'em."

Henry teared up. "Thank you so much. It means so much for me to know you want to help with what we are trying to do."

"Don't give up, Henry," said Gregory. "We're here to help, whatever you need." He slapped Henry on the shoulder.

"To Henry," said Ivy, raising her glass of Coke. Everyone raised their glasses and toasted Henry, as the tears stood up in his eyes.

They got back on the trail in the morning. When it got far too steep and jarring, Bonnie took them off the trail, then got them onto blacktop.

"Good someone knows where they're going," said Arsenal. Ivy snorted.

They were stunned by the fall foliage at the higher elevations. They took their time, and got two hotel rooms, one for Bonnie, and one for Arsenal and Ivy. This time, there weren't movies or music. This time, they just held each other in the dark, making slow love, going through half a condom box. They spent the rest of the time falling asleep in each other's arms, only to wake up, stroking and kissing until the other woke to do it again.

They made it to the school in one piece. Arsenal checked in at both his school and his new job, and Bonnie went haywire about seeing all her friends, catching up with them. Arsenal and Ivy hunted for a cheap apartment; found an apartment over a garage.

"Need the income," said Frank, the homeowner. "Can't sell the house right now. Wife wants me to join her in Florida. Need to get rid of thirty years of stuff, you know?" Arsenal got a break on rent, helping the old guy sell the stuff on eBay, or donate it to Goodwill.

They had one last night on the couch that converted to a bed in his tiny space. They laughed, fell on the floor, gave up, zipped together their sleeping bags.

In the morning, Bonnie came to fetch Ivy. One last kiss, and Ivy was gone, following Bonnie down the road and back to her life, wondering when she'd see him again. _" Confrontations aren't always easy."_

## 7

# Gain and Loss

_"New beginnings are more exhausting than you think."_

Ivy said goodbye to Bonnie at the clubhouse. Bonnie gave her a hug and went in, with no sleep, to the garage. She exclaimed, and Ivy followed her in, helmet in hand. Tools were strewn all over, pickling in motor oil or laying on dirty rags. Two disassembled bikes were on the lifts, one was in the back corner, and the place was filthy. Cans of beer and soda were strewn on the previously-pristine shop floor. All the trash cans were overflowing.

Ivy sighed. They went checking into a hotel room in the desert and getting some more sleep before hitting up the ranch. The trail had been exhausting, taking precision driving, and Ivy was more than a little sore. She took off her gloves, meaning to help, but Bonnie barred her way with a gloved fist.

"I know exactly whose bikes they are," she said. Her voice was low, calm and deadly. Ivy did a full-body cringe. The people responsible were probably going to have to clean the shop with their tongues.

"Yep," added Ivy.

"I see one of them now," said Bonnie. Phil the Pill was sitting on a bench at the picnic table, eating a breakfast sandwich, drinking a beer, and belching. Phil had started out a good guy, but Henry was contemplating throwing him out of the club. His experiences overseas hadn't made him stronger, like it'd done for the other women and men. It had made him sour.

Bonnie strode over to him. "Last meal?" Bonnie asked. Behind her, Ivy put her gloves back on, idly took out her boot knife, gave a stare, and threw it from hand to hand.

"Wha..." was all he had time to get out before she went over. She grabbed him by the ear and started dragging him toward the shop.

He howled. Others from the club came out to see. Nikan tried to make a run for it, but Ivy sprinted, felled him, got him in a headlock, put a knife to his throat, and frog-marched him back to Bonnie's tender mercies.

Sig came out, saw the howling and the knife, and resigned himself to losing a day cleaning up his mess. He willingly took out the trash, lined new ones, and had to take one out again when Phil had to upchuck in it. Nikan followed suit. Ivy smiled an evil smile of sisterhood, got on her bike, laughed into the wind, and went to find a hotel.

Ivy arrived at dawn's light to find her own space trashed, the brocade for her walls gone, her clothes gone through, some of her more expensive pieces taken, half her makeup and three-fourths of her nail polish gone, and her bed slept in. She knew the other girls; Marybelle was only interested in buying and selling used high-end fashion on eBay, and the other girls weren't thieves. Ivy had taught them some of her tricks to up the price, and they would've had to have been very busy while she was gone, anyway. No, Di had been stupid enough to hire someone who stole, and that person was going to regret it.

She went in to see Ky, her face an expressionless mask. "Uh oh," he said, putting down his coffee au lait. "Your face get in a freezer?"

"The new girl still here?" she asked.

"Darla?" he asked. "Di let her use your... room. Oh, girl, she in the parlor, pretty auburn hair. Ooo, she about to get snatched bald. I have got to see this."

Darla was thin, with bones protruding from her shoulder blades. Her eyes were gleaming with greed. She was sitting on the lap of a cowboy, fondling his penis with one hand, her other hand on his rough cheek. _Been using,_ thought Ivy. But not too far along. Track marks probably between her toes. And, fondling in the front room is a no-no. It's decision time, not sample the merchandise.

"A hundred dollars to watch," said Ivy.

She collected the C-notes with one hand and stuffed them in the front pocket of her jeans while she grabbed Darla's hair with her other hand. The girl yelped, then screamed when Ivy bitch-slapped her.

"Here's what's gonna happen. First, you are going to strip out of the clothes you stole from me." Immediately, she stripped off the expensive crimson leather bustier and threw it over her shoulder.

The girl's breasts fell out. Ivy reached behind her own back; more hundreds entered her hand. She stuffed them in her pocket.

"Then, you are going to return to me every fucking thing you stole from my room. If you've used it up, you're going to pay to replace it." She jabbed the girl in her bony shoulders. "Then, you're leaving. If that means you leave here naked as a jaybird in the desert heat without any money for the drugs I'm sure you stashed in my room, yay for me."

Di came out in high pitched voice, "What the hell..." Ky shook his head, as did Ivan and the mountainous James.

Ivan polished glasses, a knowing gleam in his eye. "Girl stole my tips, Ivy. You want to get them back?"

Ivy shook Darla by her hair. Darla raised up a tiny fist, but Ivy had her knife out and put it in front of Darla's right eye. "Girl, my stuff. And there better not be a trace of you when you leave."

It was quite the procession, Ivy dragging the protesting Darla back to her room by her hair. All done while two cowboys, three ranch hands, Ky from his kitchen, and Kevin, to make sure Ivy didn't kill Darla. Not that he could prevent it if she were willing.

The girl stammered out to where she'd hid things in the storage space under Ivy's trailer. She wept fat tears as she took the stuff out. Ivy had to slap the girl's ass twice when she faltered, hanging the hangings back up, and putting the makeup and polish back. Some of the clothes were ruined and all of the makeup and polish.

"You can't expose this shit to the summer sun," said Ivy. Darla mewled as Ivy threw it all in the trash. "That's coming out of your stash."

Since it was her own apartment, Ivy found both her money and her smack in the hiding places she knew well, in the toilet tank in a waterproof container and hidden under the mattress. Darla lost it and lunged at Ivy, with claws out, willing to do anything to get her drugs back, and the money to buy them.

Ivy grabbed her by her long, pretty neck. She bitch-slapped her again, grabbed her by the back of her neck, and put the knife to her eye.

"Did you think I wouldn't come back? Wouldn't notice?" Darla cried fat tears of rage. "Ah, you've been getting high, and miscounted the days. This is a clean joint. The girls don't drink, unless someone brings them to party, and then the girl has the right to say 'no.' They certainly don't do drugs. Since Di invented that rule," she said, her voice strong and clear as a bell, "I would assume she didn't know about your little drug problem. Make that a big one. Or that you stole from a woman in a motorcycle gang."

She put the knife back, pulled downward with the hand holding onto the hair. Darla dropped to her knees. Ivy took off her jacket, turned it around. The skull on the back shimmered, and winked in the light.

"I know damn well I have other Nighthawks gear here. Or are you too stupid to live?"

Ivy counted out some of the money, and handed it to Kevin. "Give this to Ivan. She short anyone else?" She looked out, caught Ky's eye. Ky gave his head a little negative shake. "You're fucking lucky. I got most of this stuff in discount stores, but not my leathers. There you're fucking unlucky." She took most of her stash of cash. "This should be barely enough to tip Damian. He's the driver who drove you here. He'll drop you off wherever you want to go. I suggest a bus station."

Darla shook with rage. "I ain't paying him nothin,'" she said with an accent of pure Texan coming out of her mouth.

"Oh, small town girl," said Ivy. "Bet you came here to be in a show, but found them full-up already with people with ten times your talent. Go find your other stash. Is it in the sugar jar? No, Ky uses real sugar too much." She leaned down and held Darla's face in her strong fingers. "Bet it's in the wheel well." Darla averted her eyes. "Grab your stash, and I'll just keep this for Damian. And, put some motherfucking clothes on."

Darla grabbed her pitiful few clothes, and put on a see-through black blouse. "Fuck!"

Ivy sighed. "No taste," she said. "You tried to steal mine. In the future, taste involves asking for help. Every fucking thing I learned about how to do this business I learned from asking for help. Now, grab your stash and this pitiful mound of crap and get the fuck out of this house, and don't look back."

Damian came back to get her things, including the drugs. "Seriously," said Ivy, handing him the little baggies. "She can have them when she steps out of the car, not before. On the other hand, she'll try to trash it in her rage. She'll probably puke in the car, and she'll be flipping out the whole fucking time."

"I've got plastic to put down on the seats and floor," said Damian. "I've dealt with wasted people before. I'll take care of it." He made the money and the smack disappear. "Thanks, Ivy. She was a real bitch, looking down on everyone."

"Oh, a racist idiot as well?" said Ivy, sighing. "Lovely." She set about putting her room to rights.

With the show over, the cowboys went back to Ivan's drinks, and to wait on Marybelle and the other girls to finish with their current dates. Ivy made sure the deeply stupid Darla had her stuff —she stole a trash bag from Ky to pack it for the fool, and made sure she was in the car for the ride back. She saw Damian talk to her, and pass back one glassine bag to her. Darla took it with shaking fingers, took her works out of her pocket, and shot up, even as Damian turned around the car.

Ivy went back to her room, took off her riding leathers, and put on simple red boy shorts and a matching off-the-shoulder top with cuts in the sides. The ranch hands were ready to go. She treated them to a very relaxing session of clean sex, followed by getting dressed, then playing a spirited game of strip poker. She raked in more straight cash and tips than any of the other girls combined.

She went to give Di her cut. She stood in the woman's office, seeing the crow's feet at the corner of her eyes. She also had wrinkles in between her eyebrows, and on her forehead. One thing she could say for the woman was that she aged with grace.

"You gonna stare at me or give me the house cut?" asked Di.

Ivy, expressionless, handed over the money. "You get a girl in here like that again," said Ivy, in a very low but very dangerous voice, "first, I walk. Then I tell any girl who will listen what kind of house you really run. Then, I call the federals and tell them about the smack."

"You don't scare me, girl," said Di, her voice a mix of irony and exhaustion.

Ivy smiled a feral smile. "Then I'll call the Valkyries. Scared now?"

Di cut a quick glance over to Ivy, looked away, then had her head down to count the cash. "You're more trouble than you're worth," said Di.

"No," said Ivy, "you are. You're getting stupid, and that will get this ranch closed faster than a camel can spit. You built this. If you want it to stay, then take care of it. If you don't, sell it to someone who gives a fuck about what they're doing."

Di sighed. "You want me to admit I made a mistake?"

"That's a start," said Ivy. "If you don't want to hire the right girls, that's your fucking problem, but don't make it mine. Putting her in my room? What the fuck were you thinking?"

Di stashed the money in the hidden safe, added the count to the ledger by hand, then into her electronic one. "Dave died," she said. Dave was quite literally, her oldest client, at seventy-one.

He owned a huge spread, and had been a vigorous and joyous man. He had been one of the investors in the Palomino. He had received his money back with buckets of interest, but still got free rides from Di personally, especially when he showed up about twice a month.

"Fucking man," said Di, the tears standing out in her eyes. "He... he talked about divorcing Tina, you know? But the kids would be devastated, and he said Tina was good for the land." She was. Ivy had been to the ranch for cookouts.

Tina had a whole container gardening thing, growing stuff. Half the food had been from her own homegrown larder, one of the best luncheons Ivy had ever eaten.

"Tina must be devastated," said Ivy.

"Yes, she must be," said Di, glancing at Ivy. She relaxed fractionally when she realized that Ivy was really talking about her. "Go away," she said. "Quit darkening my door."

It was too early to tell Di she was leaving anyway, but that little conversation had sealed the deal. Di would lose her old customers, one by one, and a little of herself in the process. The ranch would suffer, and so would the girls. Ky wouldn't put up with crap, and neither would she, Dion, Damian, or Ivan. The Palomino was in trouble, and Ivy had to leave a sinking ship.

She went back to her room, her heart sinking as well. _I could buy the ranch from Di_ , she thought, but shook off the idea. She laughed to herself, going over everything in her room again. She found another stash, this one of a little cash. She headed to the bar, gave it to Dion for tips, and took a strawberry mint muddle drink to her room. She went over everything she had, and tossed things that Darla had destroyed. She'd have to go into Vegas, get replacements for some. _I could get things for Arsenal_ , she thought. _I'll have to hit up my favorite leather store_ , she thought, and she grinned.

The next days were full of conventioneers —dentists and dental hygienists. They were courteous, and liked both vanilla and clean sex. One of them was into punishment, a tall man with ebony skin and soft brown eyes. He took one look at Ivy standing in the parlor. She was dressed head-to-toe in black leather. He went over to her, knelt, and called her "Mistress."

Ivy took him back to her trailer. She made him kneel on her soft rug, put a collar on him and manacles, and slapped his ass with a cupped hand. She made him clean every millimeter of her trailer, paint her nails, bring her tidbits to eat from Ky, and spanked him for imagined slights.

He spent the night, and paid her a fortune in the morning over the up-front cash she had taken from him. And apparently, gave the word that she was an excellent dominant, because a steady stream of punishment junkies showed up.

She bought a cabinet and stocked it with even more toys, most of which she never used but threatened the men and women with them. She jacked up her prices, and soon had a sizable fund for her daughter she put in a trust. She prepaid for two years, and had the rest pay out over time. She took the spillover, and put it in the bar fund after paying an astronomical amount of taxes, and started trying to match Ace's buy-in.

Arsenal came back for a visit. "You've priced me out of your services," he said, early one morning. The heat was already coming off the desert in waves in the dawn light.

"It bother you that I spank people for money?" she asked.

"No," he said. He laughed and kissed her. "You're raking in the cash, and you'll be out of here soon."

"Di will have a cow," she said, pulling on her riding gloves. "Hell, she'll go nuclear. But, Thanda asked me how to do the spanking thing. She says she hates cleaning her room, and might as well get paid to have someone else do it."

He roared with laughter. "Let's go find a road with nothing on it, pitch a tent, and make love under the stars."

"Sonic first," she said.

"Didn't Ky pack you something?" he asked.

"Man makes a mean BLT," said Ivy. She took out her helmet that made her look like a black bug, closed the seat, and snapped down the visor. "I need a strawberry lime."

He laughed again. "My woman and her stomach," he said. "I need to keep her fed, or her knife will be in my nostril before I can say boo."

"And don't you forget it."

They hit up the Sonic near the club. They rolled in for a chat. Ivy went to see Bonnie's now-pristine garage. Ivy gave her a lime drink and they laughed for a while.

"Henry's talking about building a homeschool," said Bonnie.

"No shit?" said Ivy. "That'll be cool." They talked about an upcoming ride.

Ivy finished her drink, then Arsenal and Ivy went out to find a road that went nowhere. They went to Boulder City, then followed the lake around until they found an isolated campground. They ate the sandwiches and drank the Cokes Ky had packed. They pitched the tents, and made love from dusk until dawn.

**_Recovery Ride_**

Working an extra day didn't improve Ivy's mood. Damian brought carloads of tourists —men, women, heterosexuals, homosexuals, people who needed a break and had money to burn. Tourist season was in full swing. Conventioneers—doctors, plumbers, lawyers, salespeople —came in droves. The ladies of the Palomino Roadhouse quickly became exhausted and hired freelancers to come out. Di schmoozed the older clients and took care of some herself.

Amid the chaos, Gina didn't call about the bar, and Arsenal was in Colorado at a certified Harley mechanic training course with a few of the others from the Nighthawks. Ace helped a buddy complete a huge construction project up at Lake Tahoe, and bartended there at night. He sent long e-mails with ideas for the club. She kept Juan and Jorge in the loop. Henry, Numa, and other club members took turns coming up and taking Ivy out for rides, even short four-hour ones. They took her to Lake Havasu and Lake Mead.

Once, they went to Lake Tahoe to steal Ace for a long dinner at a restaurant near the pier, and ride along the lake.

"I'm getting too old for this," Ace carped, "I can't wait until the bar sale goes through."

Henry laughed, "Then you'll be up to your ass in alligators getting it ready to open."

Ivy and Henry laughed, "I can't imagine swinging a hammer these days," said Ivy, "I barely sleep as it is."

"Eighteen-hour days," said Ace, "gotta hate 'em."

"At this rate," said Ivy, "I won't need you at all and I'll be able to buy my daughter's school."

"Buy a horse barn or a building or a horse," said Ace, "above the tuition. It'll endear you to them no end."

"Could they use some painted ponies? We've got some rescues, real gentle. Be good for the kids, and we won't have to pay the feed or vet bills to keep them alive anymore," said Henry.

"Henry works with a rescue society," explained Numa, "more critters on that farm than anyone knows what to do with."

"I'll find out."

She sent a text to Dr. Hoit. They finished their peppercorn steaks, and potatoes, and the pesto tortellini, and headed out for a ride before Ivy and Ace had to fall over from exhaustion. The air was warm and sweet and heavy with the smell of the water. They stopped at a beach, and sat on rocks, overlooking the water.

Dr. Hoit sent back a text in the affirmative. Henry got her number to set up the trigger transfer in Ivy's name to endear her to the school.

"Did you read what I wrote?" Ace asked Ivy.

"Good god," said Ivy, "some of those e-mails are sent at three am. Do you ever sleep? And, yes, go ahead and get the vendor squared away, and I'll sign the paperwork with the lawyer on Tuesday. We don't even have the property yet!"

"We'll get it," he said confidently, "I'm making sure we have every plan in place before we get started. Did you like the demos of the bands I sent you?"

"Yes,"' she said, "go with the first two. The last one was all screaming and no beat."

"Shut up about the bar," said Henry, "let the woman watch the water in peace."

They sat there until Ivy nearly fell asleep. She stood up suddenly, "Someone get me two Cokes and get me to my bike. Gotta head back out before I spend the night here in the sand."

"Meet us at the convenience store we passed on the way in," said Henry, "I'll see Ace off and see what I can rustle up."

Ivy hugged Ace, and said, "Right behind you, Kemosabe," to Henry. Henry laughed, and they all got on their bikes.

"So much for a day off," said Ivy, putting on her helmet.

"Better than a stick in the eye," said Numa.

"True," said Ivy, and they headed off to find sustenance before their ride.

The desert night was balmy. Numa and Henry kept Ivy awake by blasting Lynyrd Skynrd so loud it made their ears bleed. Ivy put in her code and waved goodbye to her friends. She wound her way around Damian's Lincoln, parked her bike in its spot, wiped the bike down, and pulled down the side tarps. She stumbled in a back way, put up her leathers and pulled off her boots. She stripped down and put her clothes into a laundry sack. She cleaned up in the sink, pulled on an ancient Aerosmith T-shirt, and fell asleep about a half second after she laid down.

She barely made it through the next week, reminding herself that Arsenal would be done with his course by the time the madness died down. She got by on the occasional e-mail and call from Arsenal, and the deluge of e-mails from Ace. She saw the Vegas attorney twice a week, getting everything ready for the liquor license and food service licenses and the health inspection. She got ready to order food and liquor, finding the best vendors in the city with the help of Charmaine. Charmaine was funny and happy, despite, as she put it, "being busier than a tornado." Charmaine talked to the realtor Gina nearly every day.

Gina said, "That girl's waiting till the price hits rock bottom. I'm hearing you and your partner are busier than I am."

"My boyfriend's' in Colorado. He says he barely eats and sleeps. He's learning how to build, tear down, and repair Harleys from scratch."

Charmaine went on, "Where your boyfriend at? My husband is on me like white on rice to learn how to fix them Harleys. He's an auto mechanic at a little shop off of Paradise. Says there are so many bikers in a sunshine state, be like printing money."

"Harley Specialists Certified Course at the Colorado Mechanics Institute at Grand Junction, Colorado," said Ivy, "it will take him a year, which is a very long time to be separated, but he says he loves it."

"You do what you love, it's not like working," said Charmaine.

"Word," said Ivy.

_"New beginnings are more exhausting than you think."_

## 8

# Vegas Grief

### A New Life

_"Keep going no matter what."_

They finally got the call during a huge convention of security people. They had to hire Damian's sister Glass to help drive. They also got seven girls that came in during convention times. The place got ear-splittingly loud, with poker games and a full bar with ladies and men chatting. Then pool matches, and the clean sex and sex in the ladies' rooms. One security guy came in, a thin reedy man in all black. He said his name was Sam, and that he was a cyber security specialist. He took out three hundred-dollar bills and counted them into Ivy's hand.

"What is this for?" asked Ivy.

"One hour," said the man, into her ear, "I like to spank. No bruises, I promise. Butt only, hand only."

"A whole hour will leave bruises," said Ivy.

"Not the way I do it," he said, "we'll need a wooden chair. And a little bowl of ice."

She slipped the money into her bra. She took him back to her room and made him wait until she ran out the back to find a wooden chair, then to the kitchen for the bowl of ice. She brought both in her room. She took off her peignoir, leaving on her bra and a thong, —all in red. She took out a silk scarf. He wound it around her hands with a knot and bow she could remove with her teeth. He made her practice taking it off, and putting it back on. He set his phone timer for one hour.

"Let's get started. Lean over," he said, pointing to the chair, "hands on the back of the chair."

He smacked his hand on her right buttock, hard. She gasped. He slapped the left one, then the right, then stroked her butt. He alternated with hard and light slaps and gentle strokes, from the top of her butt to the bottom.

"You're cherry red," he said, "sit down now."

She did, "Feet out," he said. He put a little hassock she had in the corner under her feet.

She wriggled, trying to get the weight off her buttocks, "Stings, doesn't it?" he said, sitting on the bed. She nodded, "The silent type?" he asked. She nodded, "Good!"

After she stopped wriggling, he said, "Stand up." she did, "get a dildo, one small enough to put inside you."

She got one of the finger ones she liked, "Put it in," he said.

Ivy felt aroused by this man's ways.

She put one leg up and put it inside as he spoke, "Is it electric?" she nodded, "give me the controller." She did.

Ivy liked him being in control. There was something sexy about it.

"Lean over my legs," he said. She did, "Hands on the floor," he said, and she did as she felt aroused by the commands.

He did the slapping again, going back and forth between light and somewhat harder slaps. She gasped and wriggled. From time to time, he set off the dildo, and she wriggled more.

"Stand up, put your hands on the chair."

She did. He put ice on her buttocks, slowly dragging it back and forth over her entire arse. She felt the sting ease. Then, he began slapping her lightly. She gasped, not expecting the increased sting with the water. He sometimes set the dildo off, sometimes not.

"Sit," he said, and he had her put her feet on the hassock.

His phone chirped, signaling the hour was up. He untied her, helped her stand, and helped her put her peignoir back on.

"Take a break," he said, putting another hundred on the bed, "your buttocks will be fine in about an hour."

Ivy felt the sting emanate more.

He smiled, "Thank you." He saluted her, and walked out, gently closing the door behind him.

She fell on her stomach on the bed and took a nap. She was still lying on her stomach when her phone buzzed. It was Gina. She answered it.

"The deal is ready to be made. I'm hearing from your partner that you can put down another one-and-a-half-percent."

"Make it two percent," said Ivy.

"You okay?" asked Gina, "I thought you would be more excited."

"Believe me when I tell you, Gina, that you are right in the nick of time."

"I'll make the offer," she said, "I'll lower the price more and increase the down. Believe me, these people want out."

"Excellent!" said Ivy.

She snoozed a little, woke up, noshed on loaded fries with another guy in all black, and went back to have clean sex with him and another guy. She dried her hair most of the way, and put it in twists, and went back to her room to put on a new bra and boy shorts. The others had gotten wet.

Her phone buzzed. She picked it up, "I lowered the price by two percent and increased the down by two-and-a-half percent. Will that work?"

"Do it," said Ivy, "tell Ace, and give us a day to sign. He'll blow off his two jobs to do it."

"What about your job?" asked Gina.

"Make it in the morning. I'll be there," she said, "eleven or noon."

"You got it," said Gina. "I'll call you when I'm preparing the papers."

"Awesome!" said Ivy. She hung up the phone, changed, and went out to find some security people to fuck.

It was nearly eight pm when she got the call, "It's a done deal. Your partner is putting the money in an escrow account in the morning. I've got yours ready to transfer. He says he'll make up yours, and you'll pay him back later. The owners say they need time to shut down and clear out."

"Did you tell them we want all their equipment, —from glassware to refrigerators?"

"I did. They were relieved. Auctions are a pain in the butt. They asked for half a percent more for it. I told them it wasn't worth that much. Your partner agreed to another quarter percent in thirty days."

"Good," said Ivy, "get it typed up."

"On it right now. The inspection was yesterday. Looks great. No vermin, no rot, no electrical problems, nothing at all to worry about. You will probably need to have the ducts cleaned, though."

"No problem."

"Okay. I'll e-mail you the document in a zipped file. We sign tomorrow, eleven am."

"Awesome!" said Ivy, "thanks for sticking with us, Gina," she said.

"You are making me a lot of money. You need any other real estate, you call me."

"Doubt I'll need anything else. I'll refer the crap out of you, though," she almost hung up the phone but, stopped herself, "you got anything in a condo near the bar? Two bedrooms, —no, make it two plus loft, I'll need an office."

"Rental?"

"Rent to own, thirty days after the bar opens. Should be getting enough receipts for a salary by then."

"Got it," said Gina, "sixty days. Can find, will do."

"Great," said Ivy, "see you tomorrow."

She set her alarm on her phone for twenty minutes. Her phone chirped. Right on time; the next batch from Damian was there.

"Thank God it's girls," she said, hauling herself out of bed.

Eight fifteen came way too early. Ivy was clean due to a bout of clean sex at three in the morning. She wolfed down a breakfast sandwich and a Coke at a McDonald's on her way into the city. She arrived right on time at the real estate office.

Ace was getting off his bike. He looked even worse than she did. He must have driven all night, "Here," he said, handing her a Coke.

"Thank God and all the saints," she said, popping the top. Ace laughed.

They sat down and signed so much their hands almost fell off, "Everything's in the escrow account," Gina said, handing them the keys.

"Great," said Ivy.

"They're giving everyone their pink slips and severance checks over there now."

"Let's get down there," said Ivy, "we might want to hire somebody."

"Two servers, two dancers, two cooks, one barman," said Ace. Ivy nodded. They shook Gina's hand and got out of there.

Ace stole the previous owner's pen and a blank piece of paper and wrote their needs on it, holding it up over his head. They got everyone on their list, because the previous owners had just opened the line for severance checks.

Ace slipped in with his key to look the place over. They hired everyone to come in and clean and box everything not nailed down, and they brought Juan down to supervise and bring boxes in his truck. He came down, smiling, and received a key for himself and one for Jorge. They told him about cleaning the ductwork.

"No problem," he said, "how you want me to pay these guys?"

Ivy gave him a wad of cash, "Twelve an hour. They got a rude awakening today. And order pizza," she said, peeling off some more twenties, "and sodas."

The people crowding in behind her cheered, and began unpacking flat boxes from the truck and packing tape and rolls of newspaper and Bubble Wrap.

"Guys," said Ivy, pitching her voice loud enough to be heard on the next street, "I'm sorry a lot of you got fired today. I wish we could have hired you all. But, Juan here may need you for something. Or Jorge, the other guy I have rehabbing the place. Ask them. If the other place doesn't give you a reference, Juan here will."

"Gee, thanks, boss!" said Juan.

Ivy smiled tiredly at him, "Come on, Ace," she said, "let's hit up Sonic and get back to work."

Back at the ranch, Ivy went straight to Di's office and said what she'd been wanting to say for a long time, "Di, I quit. Two-weeks' notice."

"It's convention season!" squawked Di, "what am I supposed to do?"

"Hire some of the extra girls. The skinny one with the big breasts, Tammy, and that fake platinum-blonde Reva, are good. I've worked with them a couple of times. And Xena, she likes to wear leather, and she's got some dominatrix in her. Let her loose on the bikers."

"You want me to hire three girls?"

"I'm worth three," said Ivy.

**_Loss_**

The days went by in a haze of sex, going back and forth to Vegas, and almost no sleep. Juan and Jorge got things done at an astonishing rate. Ivy was in charge; Ace was finishing off his two weeks' notice at both jobs and training his replacements. Ivy had to train replacements of her own.

Xena, a blue-eyed stunner with dark brown hair like her namesake, loved learning about the biker world and learned to shoot a mean game of pool. Tammy wasn't hired, but Reva was. She turned out to be smart and friendly, and able to put up with Marybelle's nonsense. Ivy suspected that Marybelle was leaving after the summer; she complained about having to get a second climate-controlled storage unit. She had a mailbox place where her loot was delivered. Ivy finally caught her not just ordering, but selling, (on eBay), and laughed the entire night as she taught both ladies about clean sex and dirty rock 'n' roll with bikers. She started passing on her various outfits, tricks, and tools.

The two weeks came and went, as there was a huge convention in town, —a vision expo with lots of ophthalmologists, optometrists, and fashion designers. Damian used his money to buy the third limo and had his cousin Roberta drive. They seemed to like vanilla sex, clean sex, and watching Xena and Ivy make out. They developed an act, dressing in velvet and slowly undressing each other. At first, Reva wasn't interested, but when she saw the money they were raking in, she demanded to learn the routine.

She was just waking up, barely functional at one in the afternoon, when James called her, frantic, "There's a lot of bikers approaching."

"The guy with the skull face, or the one with the mohawk?"

"No, the ones that visit here a lot, with the gray-haired guy in the lead. There must be thirty of them. How many girls should I wake up?"

Ivy's skin went cold, "None," she said, "they're not here for sex. They're here for me." She took a deep breath, "Tell Di I'm going, and I won't be back for a while."

She dressed in her leathers and motorcycle boots, put a Coke in her pocket, wolfed down a breakfast bar, got on her bike, and drove down to the gate. Henry parked and got off his bike. The others left their bikes running.

"It's Arsenal," he said, "he was so excited about the bar. He was coming down to see it. He got almost all the way to Vegas, was going to surprise you on Monday. He was attacked, out in the desert, with some sort of curved blade. And shot with a .38."

"He's gone?" she said, flatly.

She knew exactly who had a curved blade; she'd seen it in his boot. And a .38 in his holster, some sort of antique.

"Killed with an antique weapon."

Henry nodded, "Old service pistol, Vietnam era."

"You know damn well who did it," she said. She stopped and, stared, "you've seen the autopsy report. That takes days. Why didn't someone tell me before?"

"We all wanted to come up with you, take you to him," said Henry, "It took time to arrange. And, a fallen brother isn't something you talk about on the phone."

She dashed away the tears, "Where is he?"

"His funeral is today, in about three hours."

She popped her Coke and drank it through her tears, as Henry stood by her side. She finished it, crushed the can, opened her saddlebags, and put it in a plastic bag. She closed the saddlebag, tightened the strap, and mounted the bike.

"Let's ride," she said.

The day was punishingly hot. They wore shades at his graveside. Henry gave her three roses, —a black one, a red one, and a white one, —to put on his casket. She waited until the minister was finished talking about ashes and dust, and she laid the flowers on his casket, one by one. She threw a clump of dust on the casket. She stood next to Henry, and, one by one, the club members came by, with a touch of the hand, a word; some of them pressing pins into her hand. She opened her hand. They were his, his pins, —the ones he wore for rides, and his military pins. Little bits of his life. She stuffed her pockets with them.

When they had all ridden off, she hopped in the grave. She took the roses off the casket, putting them aside. Henry helped her open the casket. She put the pins inside, keeping his military pins and two of his ride pins. He had been shot in the chest and the face. There were blade marks on him, too, across his neck and on his face. She cried out a little when she saw, and stroked his cheek.

"Stupid man, getting yourself killed. We would have had everything. We would have had time."

She let the tears fall, then picked up the roses. Henry helped her close the casket. She kissed the roses one by one and laid them on his casket. Henry helped her climb out of the grave, then hopped out himself.

They stood there, looking down, "Claw did this," said Ivy.

"Yep," said Henry.

"I'm going to kill that son-of-a-bitch," said Ivy.

"Yep," said Henry.

They went back to the clubhouse. They played all of Arsenal's favorite songs. They played pool, and sang, and danced. Kids ran around everywhere; they all fed them and played with them, all except Ivy. Her heart was as cold as stone. She had given her tears at the graveside; she had no more left to give.

As dusk fell, they all got on their bikes and went out to Lake Mead, his favorite place. They made a toast to him, started a bonfire, and roasted hot dogs, and ate food and told their stories.

"Once, he took me to a casino," said Rock, a former navy man, out two years, "he told me to look around, —at all the noise, the dinging, the old ladies putting coin after coin into machines. He said if you want to throw your money and your time away like that, fine. But, you can build something. I bought land for my house this week."

Ivy listened.

"He told me to get my fucking shit together and my ass in gear," said Tito, "he said fucking laying around and getting high was bullshit. He said to come out here to Lake Mead, take a tent and some food, build me a little campfire, go fishing or swimming or whatever. No dope, no booze. Just me. Figure out what the fuck I wanted for life. So, I did it. I came back a lot less angry. I got a job, and, the first damn day of work, I met Maria. We're getting married in three weeks." He choked a little and then, found his voice again, "he was going to be my best man."

"He set up the Grand Canyon trip," said Numa, "almost lost it on that glass overlook thing. Ran off it so fast I thought he'd run back to Vegas." Everybody laughed.

Henry said, "Damn idiot told me he had PTSD. He was drunk and he'd just hit a woman and didn't remember a thing. He was devastated the whole ride back. I took him to a coffee shop, fed him coffee and donuts, told him he had to be sober a long time and get his PTSD under control, and maybe we'd take him back. I told him getting in control and drinking were opposite things." He held up a chip, "Dude was sober the day he died." He put the chip back in his pocket.

They were all sober for a long while.

Finally, Ivy said, "He hit a friend of mine. He came back to apologize. She wanted a damn bag, stupid woman, but she accepted his apology. I helped him buy the bag on eBay. He'd never even seen eBay. Once he found out he could order motorcycle parts from there, he was never the same."

Everybody laughed and Ivy took a moment to gain clarity

"He was the best fucking man to me. He knew what I do—did—for a living, and he didn't care. He went to school to learn to repair Harleys. He loved you guys, he loved the club, and he loved his Harley," she turned to Frank, "did they find his Harley?"

"Yeah," said Frank, "he left a will. Gave it to the club. I gave it to Rico, our newest member. Rico just got out of the marines, wants a fresh start."

"Ride it well, Rico," said Ivy, "it's what he would have wanted."

They all raised their drinks and stood, "To the fallen," said Henry.

"To the fallen," they all said and drank.

Henry and Ivy stayed to put out the fire, while the others went to their Harleys.

Henry followed her to her bike and, hugged her, "Don't do anything yet. That coward hides in a group. He sleeps at his club. He's surrounded by pit bulls with mental problems. Getting him alone is the key. We need a plan."

Ivy nodded, "We'll make one, then," she said.

"Will you still open the club?" asked Henry.

"He's the one that convinced me to do it. He was more excited than I was, the last time we talked. I'll do it for him."

"He would have liked that," said Henry. He rode with her back to the Palomino Ranch.

On Sunday at four am, Ivy packed what little she wanted to bring with her, got her last cash from Di, and headed off into the night. She had a reservation at a by-the-week place, —a place so vanilla and fake it bored Ivy to tears. She caught a full eight hours and met Ace for a very late breakfast at a pancake house. He barely said two words the entire meal.

Finally, he said, "I am so sorry I didn't come down."

"Couldn't have made it any less horrible," she said, "you could have called and told me he died, though."

"No," he said, "you needed your brothers and sisters around you. And you needed to not go off half-cocked. That fucking waste of human skin raises pit bulls and fights them."

Ivy stared at him, "And no one felt the need to tell me this before? I would have taken him out for that alone." She stared at him a moment.

"I know that look," he said, "shit. You've got a plan."

"I'm going to take all those fight-night fuckers down. And, put him away for that —what did you call him? Waste of human skin, Claw, down in such a way that it doesn't blow back on any of us. But, we need to get Dirty Vegas ready to open first."

"I'm not going to like this, am I?"

"Probably not," said Ivy, "but I will. And, if this goes south, pin it on me. This can't blow back on the club. Damia has a trust that can't be broken."

"Shut the fuck up!" said Ace, "we're all in this together."

**_Haze_**

Ivy could barely deal with anyone touching her, even Ace brushing her arm or the Nighthawks and their stoic hugs, but she had to do it. Luckily, most of her last clients were dominant ones. She had so much rage coiled deep inside that she had to carefully calculate every move so as not to accidentally hurt a client. The money went out in a steady stream into their business accounts. For the bar countertops, the neon lights, the etchings of Jimi Hendrix, Jon Bon Jovi, Stephen Tyler, Nancy and Ann Wilson, Axl Smith, and Lita Ford. Right into the glass in the front of the club. She needed to get through a few more weeks.

The club was coming together without her. Ace sent her a constant stream of video, walkthroughs, completed punch lists. He was even interviewing workers with her there on video (or audio) as a silent watcher. After the first few, she let him do the hiring. She just didn't care anymore. She didn't want to make a mistake because she was a zombie walking through her life.

She almost didn't want to open, but Arsenal had been so excited about her upcoming plans, and she had never wanted to be a whore, anyway. Damia's trust was nearly fully funded to last at least five years, provided the money market accounts, CDs, and annuities paid off... like they should. The bar should provide a steady stream of income, and Ace was so excited to actually own half of his own club.

She kept to scripts with her clients, careful with names, what she said, how she said it. She didn't want to treat people like things. But, it would be so easy to mangle, to maim. One client, a banker named Sheila, went to massage school at night and wanted to practice on Ivy. Ivy had to be careful not to zone out, to carefully critique Sheila's technique. She ended up being Marybelle's client. Marybelle loved the massages.

Ivy also, bit by bit, trained the other girls (who wanted the big money from dominance) to do what she did, bringing them in to watch, then participate, then take over. There were always more. Those with kinks flocked to Vegas and used the Palomino as their playground.

She took long breaks, riding out into the desert, coming back with Sonic drinks. She barely ate, no matter what delicacies Ky made for her, from pizza to paninis. Everything tasted like ashes to her.

She got dangerously thin. "Girl," said Ky, "Either eat or die. Go out on that bike of yours and drive off the Grand Canyon, or drive at full speed into a cliff face. But, you've got to make a fucking choice."

That got through to her. Ky had never spoken that way to her. "I..."

He raised a hand. "I love you, you stupid woman. Why do you think I'm trying to feed you? And, it won't be the same around here without you." He held up a hand, although she hadn't said anything. "I don't mind the kink, I really don't, but that guy acting like a pig was really too much." Ivy made a pig-like snuffle, and he laughed. "Exactly."

Ivy picked up a strip of panini, Parmesan-crusted tomato cheese with bacon and chicken, and ate it. He nodded approvingly.

Ky looked at her. "My pay went way up with the tips, and the ladies here are getting waited on hand and foot. Marybelle complained she was getting fat, so now she eats low-cal tidbits."

Ivy snorted. "She just wants to be able to get into her Donna Karan and Jimmy Choos."

"Girlfriend," said Ky, "you the only one around here that eats normally. Rest of them skinny bitches don't work on Harleys or take rides in the desert and pitch tents... or take long walks, or stash weights in their rooms behind fake columns."

She nodded. "I also dance in my room. At least I used to."

Finally, finally, the tears came. Ky led her into the pantry, sat her down on a stool, and let her cry. She wiped her eyes, got up, ate the reheated panini, drank a Coke, and went out on a long ride. When she got back, she was more focused, and she ate as Ky dictated to her. But, her heart was not in the Palomino.

She rode out to see her daughter, understanding Damia's remoteness as she'd never understood it before. She felt the same way, like the world was sandpaper against her skin, that she was bleeding on the floor. And that no one could see the bruises on her heart. She bought two of Inola's rescued and retrained ponies and donated them to the school.

Dr. Hoit talked about Damia's progress and thanked her for the animals. "They are excellent with the children," she said. "If parents want to donate or want to make a bequest, your friend Inola and her ponies will be one of our first choices."

_Wonder if she'd say that if she knew how Inola and I met_ , thought Ivy. Then, she banished the thought. She'd seen Inola many times since that, and Inola was now a Nighthawk. The young woman was sweet, whip-smart, and a joy to be around. _Wish Damia could morph into Inola_ , she thought, then banished that one as well. _Accept what you cannot change, she thought to herself_ , then shied away from it. It hit too close to her cannot-change of Arsenal's death.

Dr. Hoit sat still for a few moments, saying nothing. "Who died?" she said.

Ivy realized she wasn't startled at Dr. Hoit's insight. "My boyfriend. He and I talked about his adopting Damia," she said.

"How did he feel about what you do for a living?"

Ivy realized that all the things she had done to hide her true profession was pointless with the incisive Dr. Hoit. "When did you realize?"

"After your graduation," she said. "Most women would be talking about new challenges. You sat here with tightened eyes and reassured me the money would always come through. It always did. Unless you're secretly a mob moll or a drug dealer, I think you're involved in prostitution, probably the legal kind."

"Got it in one," said Ivy. "Damn near killing me, but Damia is worth it."

"A mother's love knows no bounds," said Dr. Hoit. "I'm afraid your love goes well and above what most of the parents with their children here are willing to do."

Ivy nodded. "I'm getting out. In just a short time. I will be working at a bar in Las Vegas." She snorted. "As a half owner with my best friend from the old days. Before all... this."

"Excellent," said Dr. Hoit. "I will never judge you," she said. "Or call Child Protective Services, although everything you have been doing is legal, and your daughter doesn't live with you. You have literally done everything possible to connect with Damia. She just..."

"I get it now, Doctor," said Ivy. "The world hurts her, like rolling in cactus, or rubbing sandpaper all over herself."

"Your understanding of your daughter has come at a terrible price. You are far too thin," said Dr. Hoit.

"My friend Ky has been feeding me. My weight went up a little this week. Not by much, but he's been tempting me with paninis and pie."

"Good," said Doctor Hoit. "Your daughter needs you to stay alive, to stay with her. Passive suicide is still suicide."

Ivy snorted. "I guess that's what my foodie friend Ky was trying to tell me. You are a wise woman, Doctor Hoit," said Ivy.

"I get paid to be." She smiled, and nearly quailed at Ivy's deathly smile. _At least she was attempting to smile_ , the doctor thought, schooling her features into smoothness.

The night has a slight edge of coolness as Ivy left the ranch and flowed toward Las Vegas. She stopped at a Dairy Queen and ate dessert for dinner, a peanut butter sundae. She rode to Las Vegas and arrived at the Nighthawks clubhouse in the dead of night.

Bonnie was there, with the garage lit up like Christmas. Ivy parked the bike nearby, locked up her helmet and gloves, and strode up.

"What you doing up so late?" asked Ivy.

"Custom order got behind and I'm dealing with Jesuit's bike. Ditched the thing. Broken leg. Serves him right; took the turn too fast. Whatchu doin' here so late?"

Ivy pulled two Cokes out of her pocket and sat them on a pristine bench. She hung up her Nighthawks jacket on the hook to the side of the door. "Can't sleep worth a damn," she said.

"Fucking insomnia," said Bonnie.

"Fucking rage," said Ivy. "Claw killed Arsenal, I know he did, but it's gonna take time to set up the sting. Club isn't open yet. Can't stand to go in it some weekends. I'm so sad Arsenal won't slip away from school and come to opening night."

"Boy was talented," said Bonnie. "His instructors said he was doing well." She picked up a part. "Wanna help me put this bad boy together? Got the spray-painted parts back, midnight blue." She chuckled. "Like about right now."

"What the fuck," said Ivy. "Arsenal liked to tell me every damn thing he was learning. Might have learned something through osmosis."

"Ugly fucking coveralls through there," said Bonnie, pointing to her office. "No use you gettin' them fancy jeans tore up. Go on, get changed." Ivy did as she was told, bemused.

They stayed up all night, Ivy helping put the bike together. She held parts still for welding, and helped to test everything. She bumped her knuckles numerous times, and they bled, despite work gloves. She went out on a Taco Bell run, mainly because Bonnie was trying to fatten Ivy up, she guessed, or get her out of the way to finish something.

When the customer came in at dawn (all the way from Texas) to get his bike, Ivy realized why Arsenal had loved working on bikes. The customer was a woman with frosted-blonde hair, braided on one side. She sported a fierce grin, and a California smile, so large, it threatened to split her face wide open.

"She is beautiful," said the woman, stalking the bike, walking around and around it like a cheetah.

"Let's take Vivienne out for a spin, shall we?" She rode around the block, came back, and paid Bonnie. "She was worth the wait," said the woman. "Thank you for building my Vivienne."

"Anytime," said Bonnie, taking the check. She went to the ATM to deposit the check while Ivy started cleaning up.

Gregory rode up. "What you doing here, Ivy?" he asked, as Ivy cleaned out the trash.

"Bike building therapy, apparently," said Ivy. "Now I can see why Arsenal loved building bikes." Gregory went over to her and hugged her. "Hey!" she said. "I'll mess up your threads." She unzipped the coveralls, stepped out of them, and hugged him back.

"I am so sorry," said Gregory. "You know I'm down when you're ready to take Claw out."

"Nice to know," said Ivy, into his chest. "Fucker took my soul."

Gregory looked into her eyes. "Took part of it, yes, but not the whole thing. He gets that, he wins, do you understand me, Ivy? He wins, and you have nothing left but ashes. You've got so many people that love you." He poked at her collarbone. "Come on," he said. "I'll buy you a huge-ass breakfast at the waffle house. With bacon, eggs, toast, sausage, and cheesy grits."

Bonnie and Henry both came into the garage. "I'll finish up here. Gregory, you and Henry go feed this woman."

"Fuck, no," said Ivy. "Let's get this cleaned up, and we'll all go." She put her coveralls back on, and soon the place was shipshape again.

Over breakfast, she showed her bumped and bleeding hands. Henry ordered, then excused himself. He came back with antiseptic cream, gauze, and tape.

"You're going to the ranch to hang out with Inola," he said. "A done deal. You can't work with hands like that. Bleeding on customers isn't so romantic."

Ivy huffed. "What I do isn't so fucking romantic, but I get your point." She pulled out her cell phone and told an unimpressed Di she had been injured and wouldn't be back for a few days.

"You're going to go to the ranch, and take the blue guest bedroom, second from the back. You're going to eat farm cooking. Stop off and get some of those sodas you like so much." Henry spoke quietly, but with great authority. Ivy felt like sucking in her gut and behaving when he talked like that.

Ivy marveled at how they all cared for her. "I suck at being good company," she said. "I sleep all the time, or cry, or break things, or bust up my hands." She held them up. "Or, I don't eat, or I eat dessert for dinner."

"I hate to break it to you," said Gregory. "But this is all normal. Grief kicks your ass, and it's the gift that keeps on giving. You won't eat, sleep, or work right for months, if not years."

Ivy put her head in her hands. "Ace is trying to move up the opening date, and I'm dragging my feet. I should be so happy... dancing naked in the streets, darting in and out of traffic, but I feel frozen, somehow."

Henry spurted his ice water out onto the table, choking. Gregory helpfully patted his back. "I hope that's not how you usually celebrate."

Gregory laughed so hard the juice nearly came out his nose. "Be a sight to see, and you'd probably get arrested."

"I'd like to get into kickboxing again, but I live out in the desert, and Di won't let me hang up a heavy bag out back. Said it would bring in the riffraff."

Gregory nodded. "I have a place you can go. For now, footwork, no hands."

Ivy nodded like a bobblehead. "I promise."

Their food arrived, and they dug in, even Ivy. They included stacks of apple pancakes to the rest of their farmer's breakfasts. Ivy found herself eating like she meant it for the first time in weeks.

Gregory took charge of Ivy. "Footwork, then I'll shadow her to the farm," he said. "She's tired but still angry, so she won't sleep."

"Sitting right here," said Ivy. "Not a sack of feed you can hand off to one another."

Henry snorted. "Girl, if I put you in a grain sack, you would shine. No hiding that beauty." He kissed her forehead. "Even in your grief."

They went to buy shorts, a shirt, a sports bra, and shoes first, as Ivy hadn't packed workout clothes. The kickboxing lesson brought it all back, including what she learned in the gym the summer she met Ace. She practiced footwork, then kicked and kneed a heavy bag. Gregory waited until she showered, re-bandaged her hands, and rode with her to Henry's ranch.

He walked her to the bedroom. "You can stop following me," she said. "I'm not going to break."

Gregory kissed her forehead. "Ivy, you're the strongest Nighthawk that I know, and that's saying something. A lot of us are ex-military. The problem is, you need to bend in order not to break." He handed her a bottled water. "I'll put that soda crap you like in the minifridge."

"The minifridge?" she asked. Gregory opened what looked like a narrow cabinet to show a minifridge and microwave. "That's why I bought these."

He shoved frozen meals into the tiny freezer and some ice cream cones, then added the Cokes. He showed her the cups of plastic spoons, forks, and knives.

"See, box of tissues, flat-screen TV, remote control, food, drink. Now, go to sleep." She groaned but did as she was told. He tucked her in as if she were a child, kissed her forehead, and said, "Call me if you need anything."

"I'm not three, you know."

Gregory ignored her. He took her boot knife in its sheath out of her hands and put it under her pillow. "I'll blackout the shades," he said. He plugged in her cell phone. "Plenty of books and music on that thing, I've seen it on rides. Goodnight."

She glared at him. "Goodnight. Or daytime." He snorted and shut the door behind him.

Inola came into the kitchen as Gregory came downstairs. She grabbed a water. "How is she?"

"A fucking mess," said Gregory, taking a stolen Coke out of his jacket pocket. He popped the top. "You smell like horse," he said. "And hay."

"Since I work with horses all day, duh. Desperately need to get a ranch hand. Don't suppose you want the job?"

He quailed. "I like my horses in the form of horsepower in my Harley engine," he said. "I can ride, but I did it enough in Kandahar."

She smiled sadly at him. "I can't even imagine."

He pointed his thumb behind him. "I've seen her grief before. She's drowning in it. I'll come back if she's ambulatory, but until then, she has food, drink, TV, books, and a few days off because she tore up her hands helping Bonnie."

"I'll check up on her," said Inola. "In my copious free time. In addition to a ranch hand, we need a cook, an accountant, and a bunch of little elves running around the place keeping it up and running. I'll call David, our medicine man. And probably Numa. They can sing over her, protect her spirit in this time of sorrow."

He smiled. "Could have used them in Kandahar. Bad medicine there."

Inola nodded gravely. "Arsenal was just getting his life together, progressing on his path. He may or may not have managed to stay with Ivy. Now he will be frozen in time for her, as the man with no future."

"Her rage doesn't help," he said. "I hear she's got a plan. Better that we implement it soon, or we may lose her to her rage or a rage/pain combo."

"Better that," said Inola, "than risk getting her killed on some revenge mission. She needs to be strong and focused for it to work."

"No fucking kidding," said Gregory.

_"Keep going no matter what."_

## 9

# Epilogue

_"Keeping someone from falling down the rabbit hole is never easy."_

Three days of rest, watching idiotic television, reading books, playing video games on her cell phone, and eating gourmet frozen food and ice cream. Oh, and drinking Coke at all hours of the day and night. That made it clear to Ivy that her exhaustion was bone deep. She took long, hot baths, and cried for what seemed like years. Her sleep was fractured and never very far from the surface. She'd be watching a movie, and would sleep through the ending, or her phone would turn itself off as she nodded off while reading or playing a dumb video game. The kind where she had to build a space station.

She woke to Numa singing over her more than once, as Numa knitted in a chair next to her. She thought she was hallucinating when a man did the same thing, standing at the foot of her bed, and singing in Ute, the language of the Paiute. The entire thing felt like a hallucination.

One night, she threw up her chicken orzo salad and strawberry ice cream and called Di to extend her stay by three more days. She would cry while watching a comedy, rage while watching an action movie, scream while watching a silly caper movie. More than once Ace came by with Sonic food to fatten her up. He gave her club updates, and stayed to watch dumb TV with her. They got through two seasons of Law and Order and one of the Bluebloods. She would cry without realizing it, tears streaming down her face.

The Nighthawks had a powwow around Henry's kitchen table. "I don't want her going back there," said Ace. "That's not her life, not anymore."

"Her choice," said Henry. "She's an adult."

"But is she capable of making her own decisions?" asked Ace.

"You want to stop her from doing something she wants to do, be my guest," said Numa. "She's got to finish out her time there, then go open the bar and set her plan in motion, whatever it is."

"I'm terrified she'll get herself killed," said Ace. "Or worse, me killed."

"What's the plan?" asked Numa.

"All I know is, she's going to hire a double to be two places at once." Ace shrugged his shoulders and held out his hands.

"Opening night," said Numa. "The time when she will be in two places at once."

"No way," said Ace. "She wouldn't miss opening night. Not after all this work we've put into it."

"You mean all the work you've put into it," said Henry.

"She's not alive right now, not really," said Numa. "She's half in the spirit world. I've talked to her about counting coup, not killing her opponent in battle. And also about making it worse for him by being alive and free while he is not."

"Numa," said Gregory, "That makes whatever plan she has in mind far more difficult, and more dangerous to implement."

"Well, then," said Henry. "Are we agreed that Claw is too dangerous and too well-insulated to take out ourselves?" They all nodded. "Then, we must use our assets to do an investigation, find out every single thing about him."

"Well, fuck," said Ace.

"Our assets?" asked Inola.

"The Iron Knights and the Valkyries," said Gregory.

"Then, let's do that," said Ace. "Information is good, isn't it?"

"But it must be accurate to be effective," said Gregory.

"Let's take the bastard out," said Numa. Everyone looked at her. "What?"

"With all your talk of counting coup," said Henry, "I did not think you wanted to be part of this war council."

"It just means that Ivy going to jail right when she is to start her new life running her place would be insanely stupid," she said. "We will gather our intelligence and move against the enemy in the right place and time, and when the enemy feels the most safe."

"Remind me to never, ever... make you angry," said Gregory.

"I won't either," said Ace. "I thought you Paiutes were peaceful."

Henry snorted. "Our Northern Paiute brothers and sisters to the cold north were always more... hot-tempered. But, we can fight. If pushed."

"Like Brother Bear," said David, almost motionless, sitting to Henry's right. "Silent and slow, a good fisherman, very good with children. But, if you anger Brother Bear or, worse still, his wife guarding the cubs..."

"You get shredded," said Gregory.

"Exactly," said Henry.

"Let's shred Claw," said Ace. Inola giggled with her hand over her face like a child.

Ivy eventually moved out of her languor. She went back to the Palomino, determined to earn every last dollar. She screamed, cried, wailed inside, but she needed a plan and she needed it fast. Staying was not an option. She needed to get out. So, she did mostly domination games, tying up men and women that wanted to be controlled.

She also needed to stop leaning on Ace. She had to be an equal partner, or not at all. She read every e-mail, participated in teleconferences to show her the progress of the bar, and went up on weekends.

One of her regulars, Eve, and a new BDSM friend, Lydia, came up. Eve was a woman on the prowl, in control. Eve was a lawyer for a high-priced law firm. Lydia watched from the corner of the bed. Eve liked her ass pink, so Ivy had her leave on her camisole top and her thong, and to hang up the rest of her clothes. Ivy always found something wrong with the way she hung up the clothes, and this time was no different.

"Open the cabinet," Ivy demanded. "Put on the red ones." The red ones were the leather wrist manacles, with red leather outside and soft wool inside.

Eve also liked being muzzled, so Ivy came up behind her, breathing on her neck. Eve's nipples hardened. Ivy knotted a bandana, put the knot in Eve's mouth, and tied it behind her head.

"Lean over," she said, and had Eve put her hands on the seat of a chair.

Then, Ivy used open-handed slaps to raise blood to the buttocks. Ivy reached into the closet, brought out a small dildo that had a part that sat on Eve's button, and she inserted it. All while moving the G-string back over to keep it into place. Ivy put the controller on "pulse" and ran a pulse to see if it worked. Eve gasped. Ivy then spanked her on the buttocks, randomly pressing the button for alternating lengths of time until Eve was gasping with mingled pain and pleasure.

"Sit down," said Ivy, pressing her into the wooden chair.

Eve gasped in pain, and Ivy came over with an ottoman for her to put up her feet, maximizing the feel of her buttocks on the hard surface of the chair.

Then, Ivy decided to start off simply with Lydia. She had Lydia strip down to a camisole and G-string. "Lay over my knees," Ivy said.

Ivy gave Lydia the dildo controller and told her to push it randomly. She then spanked Lydia very slowly, pausing to rub chunks of ice, melting in a little bowl, by her right hand, onto Lydia's buttocks. She then had Lydia change places with Eve. She then gave Eve the same treatment, with the ice and the slow spanking. She had Lydia put blue manacles on Eve, lean her over the chair, insert a small blue dildo into her vagina, and give her a controller. She took the controller away from Lydia for Ivy's controller. She then had each woman slowly spank the other, laying across each other's laps. Ivy held both controllers and controlled the play of the women with them.

She had them take out the dildos, and dress. They hugged it out, kissed each other, and each gave Ivy a sizable tip. Ky brought in sweets on trays, and they ended the scene by feeding each other tiny pecan pies, cheesecake squares, and chocolate silk caramel rounds. This accompanied by sparkling apple wine, and non-alcoholic cider for Ivy. She kissed them goodbye and gave Di her cut.

She took a shower, by herself for once, and ate actual food Ky cooked for her. It was pesto chicken on cheese, and pancetta tortellini.

"I know you're down," he said. "I thought the chocolate tray might help."

She shook her head, making the twists in her chair fly. "Sorry. Lost the one I thought I was gonna marry, you know?"

Ky patted her hand. "I get it, I do. Yan was mine. Fine man, fun, full of laughter. I thought I'd die laughing, him in my arms. He had too much to drink, and trusted one of our long-time friends, Ji, to drive him home. He didn't know that Ji had some cocaine before driving because he didn't see Ji drink that night. I didn't know about the coke. I left the party early, went to work, a late-night super-VIP catering job. Lovely party, I did my best. Found out about the trip into a concrete embankment on the way home, at four in the fucking morning."

Ivy put her fork down and froze. She didn't want to stop the flow of words. This was the first time she was hearing any of it. "Ji survived, tested positive for the cocaine, I think he's still in prison. Yan took five days to die. A traumatic brain injury, broken leg, a broken arm, and a cracked pelvis bone. They kept him in a drug-induced coma. I got to talk to him a little before they put him under. Then, he just..."

Ivy reached out and grabbed Ky's wrist. "He died on my arm." Ky snaked his arm around Ivy's shoulder, as he must have held Ji. "I kissed his lips, one last time. Let him go. He wouldn't have wanted to live with a brain injury, or be less than he was. He loved to dance."

Ivy looked at Ky. "I'm truly sorry."

Ky's smile was one-sided. "I blamed myself, that I wasn't there, but that was just silly. I couldn't follow him around like a puppy twenty-four/seven. I was completely, totally, crazy in love with him. Quit my job, answered the first ad I found out of state, which was for this place. Left friends, everybody, the day after the funeral. His family shunned me. Shunned me! In this day and age! Walked out of my life and got a new one. Left all my stuff behind. Someone sold it; I told him to use the money to go back to school to take some classes. Don't know if he did or not."

"Wow." Ivy couldn't believe Ky had suffered so much.

He looked deep into Ivy's eyes. "I know you're leaving soon. You've been getting into a scene you've never shown an interest in, a dangerous one. BDSM is not for the faint-hearted, and this ain't no dungeon. It's built as a place for tourists, and ranchers. You're making a last push, aren't you?"

"I would ask you to be my cook, but it's nothing food, not like the art you make," she said. "A biker bar."

He threw his head back and laughed. "Perfect for you, Ivy. I take it it's not a dive?"

"No, it isn't a dive, it's a place to drink beer and whiskey. Where you dance, and tell others your stories of the road."

"A roadhouse without the road," said Ky, with his usual incisive tone. "A place where tourists can meet bikers without ending up as roadkill." Ivy nodded, started back in on her exquisite pasta. "Well, I'm moving on too. I'm looking at several VIP executive chef things. No weird-ass brewing your own beer or freezing shit with liquid nitrogen. No bizarre diets or food-of-the-week. No airplane food. Did food on a private plane once, never again. No, just cooking for high-end people with taste."

She smiled and nodded. "I always thought you were too good for this place." She smiled a little smile and continued eating.

"You're damn right about that," he said. "And, going back will help me put things right, you know? I don't know how many of the old friends will talk to me after the way I treated them, but I can try, and make new ones."

"You would be surprised," said Ivy. "Some bonds run deeper than words."

Ky came around the bar, folded her in his arms, and kissed her forehead. "You keep going, baby girl. I'll drop a line or a text, or something. Just give me your leave date, and I'll drop out soon after, head back to the City of Angels. Live in a house on a hill, get an executive car, kiss the boys. Maybe even find love again."

She wiped her eyes with the corner of her napkin. "I don't think I can."

He wiped her eyes with his thumbs. "Don't rule it out. You're lucky, you're bisexual. More choices." Ivy barked out a laugh. "I love you, baby girl. Don't be a stranger."

"You either," she said. She finished her pesto, and went back to her room to cry.

She became ill again, this time with an ugly cough. Di kicked her out, and Tito came up and poured her into his truck, along with a percentage of her things to store at Henry's until the move. He took her to the doctor, where they gave her a pile of prescriptions, then to the pharmacist. He deposited her back at Henry's ranch, and she spent a week coughing from deep in her chest and watching really bad TV.

Henry poured a lot of soup down her throat, chicken and dumplings, minestrone, clam chowder, and potato and bacon, with sour cream. She was eventually able to sit up without being propped up, but still felt weak as a kitten.

She went back to the doctor for a more extensive workup and more drugs this time, for walking pneumonia. "But I'm not walking," she said. The doctor laughed and told her to quit smoking. "I don't smoke," she said. He got really serious then, and gave her different medication, an inhaler, and a breathing treatment.

Ace got a hot plate for her so she could reheat the soup, and came over to watch bad movies. Everyone wore a mask around her, and she wore one around them, making her feel like she had a horrifying disease rather than simple pneumonia. Miraculously, none of the Nighthawks got sick.

She went back to work when she was able to shower for herself, and then the cough was gone. She was getting close, so close, so ready to go. She went back to the Palomino with Gregory, who took back a load of her stuff with him.

"Gonna leave," said Ivy.

"Figured with your taking your stuff out the back," said Di.

"Ky's leaving, the minute I head out the door," said Ivy.

"This place was so far below him, expected it someday." She breathed out. "Can get some Mexican girls in here, making stuff, limited menu. Like you, have to hire multiple to cover him."

"Was that an actual complement?" asked Ivy.

Di snorted. "Don't get used to it."

"Unsolicited advice," said Ivy. "Get out at the right time. I think that may be sooner rather than later."

"Can't let my regulars down," said Di.

"Hate to tell you this," said Ivy, "You can do that someplace else, work a shitload less for a lot fewer headaches. The world is changing, Di, going digital. This little place may survive, may not. If you expect the BDSM to continue, you'll need to create a dungeon. That's hard to do in the shifting sands here. Build another building maybe, on the back of the first... make it a secret, hard to enter, with passwords and shit. That crowd will eat it up. Keep the vanilla sex in front, male and female doms in back. Don't do bottoms, just tops. And, for god's sake, read up on it and be sure you know what you're doing."

Di stared at her. "You telling me my business?"

Ivy sighed. "You don't want to listen to me, then don't. I tried." She turned and walked away.

Ivy did one more girl night, the group of lesbians that had become her regulars. She brought Reva in on it, so they had fun eating finger food, drinking champagne and doing each other's nails. As it turned out, Reva knew how to do mani-pedis and brought in a table, a peppermint soak for the feet, and sticks and things to make designs. The women had a disgusting amount of fun.

Ivy told them the truth. "You're going to party from now on with the beautiful Reva," she said, drinking a strawberry muddle.

The other ladies loved the idea, and Ivy called Ivan to bring in the adult version of the drink for everyone, keeping Ivy and Reva's glasses alcohol-free, marked with cherries, not strawberries.

"Where are you going?" asked Bonnie, a new one they had brought in. She had lovely short black hair, tilted green eyes, and a wide, laughing mouth.

"Vegas," she said. "I'm opening a bar in Vegas."

"Give us the deets," they said.

"Biker bar, dancing, beer, whiskey," Ivy said. "Hard rock."

"We love it," said Reva. "I'll be there on my day off. I've seen pictures of the inside. She's gonna have girls dancing on plinths, a lot of blue and purple, and chrome. Like wrapping you up in a Harley."

The girls all hooted. "We'll be there," Bonnie said. "The lesbo bar gets boring some nights." They all laughed and passed around tiny pies and chocolates.

"You better!" said Ivy, smiling a half-smile.

_"Keeping someone from falling down the rabbit hole is never easy."_

# Sweet Revenge Book 2

> Ivy needs revenge on Claw. For taking down the love of her life, Arsenal. She's got the perfect plan... and it just needs to be executed at the prime time. 
> 
> * * *
> 
> Gregory is in for a real shock. What kind of sadistic assholes do that stuff, anyway? Is it really possible for humanity to suck that damn much? When Gregory finds Elena and her daughter next door, the news is crimson-black. A black death would be better than what the guy did to them. He's decided he's going to be there no matter what.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Ivy and Ace continue to prosper at Dirty Rock, and Ace meets a new girl, the beautiful Lily. She's dark, stormy, and bites like a viper. She can sting like a bee too if he's not super-careful. He'll find that out... soon enough! 
> 
> * * *
> 
> The Nighthawks have more than enough to deal with right now. Helping all the members out with one thing or another. Between organizing rides and working. But everyone's family, and that's how they roll, "Let the wind be always at your back; ride on and remember the fallen."

Sweet Revenge - The Nighthawks Motorcycle Club

# Afterword

A huge "Hi" to all my fantastic readers! Thank you so much for reading my latest title. I hope you loved it so very much!

* * *

Can I ask a huge favor? As an author, I know readers love to see reviews from other readers. So, if you loved this title, would you mind leaving me a great review? I would be truly grateful if you could do that so everyone can see your input, too. Click link here to leave a review

* * *

Also, if you have any wonderful or genius ideas, or some brutal but honest feedback on how i can improve just drop me a line via email -newsletter@bella-knight.com\- I'd love to hear your thoughts! all your feedback helps me write better for my lovely readers :)

* * *

Oh, if you haven't received my free giveaway book, you can get it here http://bella-knight.com/

* * *

Sending all my love and gratitude. Always yours, Bella Knight!!

P.S. Thank you ever so much, I'm sending all my love and best wishes, always.

# Bad Boy romance

### My kind of Dirty

> SHE'S TOTALLY F*CKING HOT. I mean I signed up for this bullshit Reach Out program against my will, but she's totally smoking f*cking hot!
> 
> * * *
> 
> "Why are you here sweetheart?" I say, grinning at her while she fiddles with her collar that sits snuggly under her woolen vest.
> 
> * * *
> 
> "Um, Trey. I really don't think it's any of your business why I am here, do you?" It's totally hot the way she answers my question with a question. The Doc is going to analyze the shit out of this one, I know it.
> 
> * * *
> 
> "Yes, I do think I should know why you're here. I know why everyone else is here. I know you are nervous because you keep pulling on your collar. Do I make you nervous, Cara?" I touch her collar and her hand flicks me away.
> 
> * * *
> 
> She is desperate to be touched.
> 
> * * *
> 
> This is going to be more than fun...

## 1

# Cara

_"Work is too much."_

SNAPPING ME INTO REALITY, I HEAR THE LOUD CRY of the new mom and baby waiting at the counter.

"I'm so sorry dear, I need to see someone about her teething." The woman's voice is crisp and filled with worry, but I can barely hear her over the shrills the baby makes. I try to sound my enthusiastic and enchanting self.

"Doctor Joseph will be with you in a moment," I croak, still with a hoarse throat that sounds slightly non-human. I was up most of the night again, unfortunately.

I hear the sound of clicking heels on the linoleum floor and I am delighted that the new arrival is ushered through and immediately seen by my boss who is also my friend, Annalise Amanda Joseph. I can't imagine the overbearing noise filling my senses for very much longer. My heavy eyes just want to close and go to sleep, but I am here for at least a few more hours.

"I need the Darren file," she states, looking at my fallen head trying to stay upright and awake.

I remember where I am and I try to resume from my lazy composure as she looks at me with an allowance of seriousness and a hint of compassion.

"Cara, you are so exhausted. I need you to see Dr. Blake Bernard." Her face is forcing a smile, but I know she won't allow it to affect her clinic for much longer. Even if we are friends.

I raise my eyebrows and I try to concede, but I suppose I finally know it's time. She hands me his card and I wonder if I'll ever be over my past. But I don't want to cry or feel sorry for myself. I will not be a victim to those men who treated me so cruelly. Annalise continues her forced smile and stares at me for a moment, expecting me to answer her.

"I'll go next week. I promise," I say, trying to look at her with some gratitude. But it is more than I can bear reliving it all again.

She walks away, seemingly content with my submission. I can't continue to work here at the Bette Clinic looking this tired and withdrawn. The mom's and babies need a bright and perky receptionist. They at least deserve that. They are already single and lacking support from another responsible adult. That's why they come here, to get support. It's just I don't want to confront what they've done to me.

Looking at the smiling mom and baby pictures on the walls, I feel like I've disrespected my place here. Ashamed, I try to hold a smile as the next single mom's and their babies sit down for a first visit to the free clinic I used to feel so passionate about, not all that long ago.

"Hello, ladies. Please just take a seat," I utter as spontaneously as is possible for a hot Monday afternoon. I feel exhausted.

I try to remain calm, not allowing my tiredness to show. I let my purse mirror judge me as I add some lip gloss to my positive smile.

"I am not a victim and I'll feel great in just a little while," I whisper, forcing a caring smile at myself. I don't know why the night terrors keep haunting me. Post-traumatic stress can do that, so I was told.

I look down at my appointment book. The new mom's will need a welcome bag. I feel so safe here, knowing where everything is kept. I could literally stay here forever. The fresh coffee and cake; the happy pictures that fill the walls. The gorgeous babies needing a cuddle. I push the hair out of my face and I pinch my cheeks, standing up to place the bags on the counter.

"These are for you, ladies," I say smiling and making a fuss.

I am thanked and rewarded with loving words and smiles beaming as they sit back down. They happily peek at the free goodies inside. I really do love my job. This is a place where women feel supported and loved. I don't want to be away from it, even though I know I shouldn't need it anymore. I mean I'm not a single mom with a baby, needing support. My story and reason for night terrors had only been due to a short period in my life. Four years ago, it had happened. It was the most terrifying three hours of my entire life.

_Who knew it could fuck you up for your entire life?_

Last night I'd woken up again screaming. Tossing and turning like they were there, taunting my life and holding it so effortlessly in their grasp. They held the same machine guns, again. I had got up and downed a delicious and soothing glass of milk, but it hadn't been enough. I didn't want to enter the sheer terror that waited for me when I closed my eyes. It wasn't fair. I felt completely trapped by it all.

The waiting room was empty now and there were no more scheduled appointments for a while. I decided to call the therapist as promised. I hoped he was going to be the, "Magical Blake Bernard."

"I'd like to make an appointment," I say, feeling my stomach churning around, like a fish out of water.

"Who is your referring doctor, please?" asks the older woman sounding somewhat bored with my enquiry.

"Um, it's Annalise Joseph. Doctor Annalise Joseph."

She is about to pencil me in. "Three o' clock on Wednesday this week. The twenty-ninth. Name please?" she questions, waiting for a quick response that I am not altogether eager to give.

"I'm Cara Henderson." I stare at the wall, and think of my fate. Another annoying therapist with way too many ideas that won't work.

"Thank you, dear. Make sure to be on time," she says, probably painting her nails and rolling her eyes, waiting to get home. I'm just another crazy person needing really, ridiculously, expensive advice.

I place the phone down and my stomach rises into my chest, filling me with an awful indigestion that squeezes out into my throat _. I finally did it._ I actually got the strength to take a step again. I had been stuck for a few years and my psychiatrist that I'd trusted had left town. Apparently, the Bahamas was a more interesting place to be for the long term. I'd felt totally pissed about it, when Dr. Barnes left me so suddenly. I was starting to make some great progress and then she'd just left me. They were all just in it for the paycheck, I supposed.

Annalise stands behind me rubbing my back, "See, it's going to be alright. He's really great, you know," she spouts, obviously happy about the phone call she's just overheard me make.

"Thanks, I hope so." I fake a smile and try to remain the effervescent receptionist that I know I can be.

"Well, for what it's worth I'm proud of you, Cara." She smiles and hangs her white coat up on the hook. "We have an early minute tonight. Get some rest and I'll see you in the morning."

I look at my desk. I need to pack it up before I go home. "I'll lock up and set the alarm," I say, trying to place my confidence out to her.

"We'll both be locking up, for safety," she answers firmly.

She is very understanding as she turns off all the lights. I feel a strong bond to her as she places her handbag over her shoulder and makes a cup of tea, waiting for me.

"Thank you, Annalise, it means an awful lot." She knows that the robbery I was a hostage in happened at the close of business.

I don't need to search her green eyes for more compassion, because it's always there, ready to calm me. She is very good to me and one day I hope I can thank her properly.

***

WEDNESDAY IS HERE AND I am allowed an early minute. I don't have to walk far to get to the therapist's rooms.

"Ms. Henderson for three o' clock," I say as I swallow thickly, pressing a grateful smile.

"Well, hello Ms. Henderson. Take a seat." The receptionist is young this time. It's definitely not the same lady I'd spoken to, two days prior.

I swallow and sit, feeling the air in the room heat up my skin. I feel like running away and my expression starts billowing into the look that expresses that I don't want to stay. But then it is too late.

"Please come in Ms. Henderson." The door to my right is swung open, and a fat, bald man speaks softly to me, calling my name. He is holding open his large, gray door that seems enormously oversized for its hinges.

"Thank you," I say, following him through. I feel the twists in my stomach again, knowing I'll have to relive my tale for someone else who probably doesn't care.

"Cara," I hear Dr. Bernard speak, "I've read your file." The sound of his voice slowly sinks in and I try to relax in the overly-comfortable, blue leather chair.

"Oh, well you know why I'm here then." I try to act cool and I feel a bit of pressure gone now that I am here.

The paisley pattern on the wall relaxes my thoughts and I allow him to pry into my life, even if he is a stranger undeserving of me.

"You're having trouble sleeping and it is because of the post-traumatic stress disorder. I think I might be able to help you," he says looking at me with kind eyes, "but you'll have to be present and work really hard though, Cara."

My heart pulses faster and I feel myself coming undone. _Why should I have to work hard?_ Those fucking bastards took my life away.

"Um, yeah well, I don't really like talking about it an awful lot because it seems to add fuel to the fire." I feel my words coming out so easily from my mouth. I shouldn't have to keep reliving it, not for anyone.

"Cara, I have found that talking about it for some people makes the trauma worse. I am not suggesting we rehash it again at all," he says, seemingly understanding my point of view and marking it with his own elegant professionalism.

"Well, thank God for that!" I answer, breathing out an automatic sigh of relief. "Well then, what's the plan Doc?"

He laughs at my funny expressiveness and seems happy to see that I feel more relaxed in his presence. The paisley pattern really does have a slightly hypnotizing effect on me.

"Well, I want you to choose to be a part of a program and become a member of it, immediately. It's called Reach Out. It's a social group that is led by me on Thursday nights from seven until nine. Then I'm going to get you to do some specialized guided meditations to allow you to relax and feel good, right before bedtime."

I feel satisfied with the doctor. He really is thinking outside the box. He doesn't want to medicate me or hypnotize me to reveal the brutality I've suffered. He wants to ease me into feeling better about everything. He actually wants to help me to try to cope.

"Okay, so where is this group thing? Reach Out, is it?" I ask, trying to figure out the transportation in my mind. My car needs new wheels and maybe a new engine, very soon.

"It's here tomorrow night and every Thursday unless it's a holiday," he answers sporting the same helpful smile he had executed when I walked in his door.

"Sold," I say trying to add in some humor. "I'll be back at seven tomorrow night."

***

I FIND MYSELF IN A ROOM FULL OF STRANGERS. THERE ARE SIX of us sitting and waiting for the good doctor. I purse my lips and eye the abstract paintings that hang so lavishly on the enormous hall wall. If craziness could be expressed through art, then these ones would win the prize. It is six fifty-nine.

In truth, I loved art. It reminded me of more pleasant times before the nightmare occurred. I lift my eyes to see Dr. Bernard rushing into greet us.

"I was nearly late, but I'm now on time." His smile is resonating at the sound of his own words. I already really like him. He is an excellent man.

I follow the others in. There are four men and one woman and then plain old me. I felt like the third wheel but the doctor would make me feel at ease, straight away. He was so good at his job, I thought.

"Alright everyone, this is Cara. Cara this is Roxy, Trey, Ben, Doug, and Simon. We welcome you to Reach Out. Our small family." His words are genuine and I feel at home in the room as he masters them. But then he is interrupted.

"Doctor, I think we need to go out on the town and get listening to some music that we can move to. All this fucken talking is boring me to tears. Plus, the new chick doesn't want to hear all our bullshit. Do you sweetheart?" The guy who was just introduced as Trey is trying to make a stance and he is obviously not here by choice like I am.

The other members laugh as he uses his words to disrupt the group, like a class clown. He looks pretty cute, sporting a muscle top and a tight, tight pair of jeans. I feel myself blush, just a little.

"Well, I don't really do the going out thing," I say, feeling immediately stupid as the words pummel out from my mouth.

He's so ridiculously good looking. I think I might actually faint.

_"Work is too much."_

## 2

# Trey

_"Fuck yes. I need that!"_

SHE'S TOTALLY FUCKING HOT. I mean I signed up for this bullshit Reach Out program against my will, but she's totally smoking fucking hot!

"Why are you here sweetheart?" I say, grinning at her while she fiddles with her collar that sits snuggly under her woolen vest.

"Um, Trey. I really don't think it's any of your business why I am here, do you?" It's totally hot the way she answers my question with a question. The Doc is going to analyze the shit out of this one, I know it.

"Yes, I do think I should know why you're here. I know why everyone else is here. I know you are nervous because you keep pulling on your collar. Do I make you nervous, Cara?" I touch her collar and her hand flicks me away.

_She is desperate to be touched._

"Um, Mr. Bernard, I mean Doctor Bernard. Are you going to let this man take over your group, like this?" she asks, looking breathless as I look into her pale, blue eyes that seem a little lost.

"Cara. This group is for you. It's really good that you and Trey are speaking to each other. You might be buddied up with him for a while. He needs a partner," says the doctor. His pen swivels in his hand and bobs up and down to write about us and the interesting conversation we have, now.

"Yeah, Cara, we can be partners. I like talking to sexy, hot women," I say winking, doing my best to make her feel uncomfortable in an overly flirtatious way.

She turns her head and folds her arms, obviously not expecting my playful words to tease her so that she feels something for me. Probably annoyance or anger, but any feeling is good right now. The doctor will be impressed that I've hit a nerve in her. I want to be remembered by her, so I continue to tease.

"Can I take Cara for coffee? So, she feels like my true partner Doc?" I ask. I apply a genuine look of interest that excites his mannerisms.

He leans in to answer looking around at the group who have been totally silent so far, "Do you other members mind if Trey takes Cara out for buddy coffee?"

The other four members answer with a feeling of gratitude in their voices. "No, nooo, no, no," they all chime in as Cara rolls her eyes perfectly. She likes me already, that's for sure.

"Thanks a lot, you guys!" She seems pissed off at the immediate coffee engagement that will mark our buddying up. But I like my women feisty. This is perfect.

***

I ORDER OUR COFFEE AND SHE IS STILL COMPLETELY PISSED at me.

"Here you go, a latte and a piece of pie to make you feel better." Her eyes look wild like she is going to kick me. I love it.

"So, Trey, why would you think that I would want to be your buddy? What does that even mean?" She sips her hot drink and her tongue swipes ceremoniously over her top lip, catching the froth. _Fuck, yeah._

"Well, first of all, you are welcome for the piece of pie and the latte, and secondly, I am the best buddy you could ever have. We are supposed to help each other get over our issues. You know, to 'reach out' to each other." Her face is all drawn up like a shriveled apple. I think she's still pissed at me. Good!

"Um, Trey. We are totally not even going to get along. You are obnoxious and condescending and I can't see that helping either of us, can you?" Her forehead crinkles and her eyes sparkle in the cafe light. My mind sends me an erection. I am totally up for it, now.

"I think it's perfect, actually. Opposites attract you know." I sip my long black and take a piece of her pie. "That's fucking awesome, oh you've got to try it Cora."

"It's Cara, Mr. what's your last name?" The fire in her eyes lights up, and my cock grows harder still.

"Donahue, CARA," I say with a mouth full of pie.

"I really can't see us working out as buddies." She stands up and searches for money to place down, attempting to leave.

"I'm a billionaire, I've got it covered. Please put that away. It's embarrassing," I say, trying to provoke more of a reaction.

"Ugh! You are impossible and I don't give a flying fuck if you are the King of Spain. I will pay for my own latte and pie if I want to. You billionaire bastard!" Her eyes flash and her cheeks flush, and I'm already standing up and leaning in to kiss her.

My tongue swishes inside her mouth as she pushes on my chest trying to fight it. I keep my mouth pressing onto hers and she finally gives in and kisses back.

_Fuck she's so unbelievably hot!_

"Let's get out of here!" My hand grabs hers and somehow, she willingly follows me, despite the oddness of our conversation.

"Where are we going?" she asks as her breath hurries out in a sexy moan.

"To my club. You'll love it it's called 'My Kinda Dirty.'" She looks at me and stays close by my side as I hail a cab. I smile reassuring her. This is going to be more than fun.

***

WE ENTER IN THE BACK ENTRANCE SO SHE FEELS LIKE she is part of the furniture. Sometimes, out front can be a little crazy, especially If it's your first time.

"Follow me upstairs." Her hand feels sweaty in my palm. She's never been to a place like this before, I'm sure.

We reach the landing and I start to unlock my office. The key can be an absolute fucking pain in the ass, sometimes.

"Trey, I don't mean to be rude, but I feel a bit..." I kiss her again and she moans into my mouth.

It's been a long time since she's been touched or seduced. Fuck it's really good. I mean it is unbelievably erotic.

"It's alright, you're safe here. I own this club." Her eyes blink and I see the innocence in them as her blonde hair falls back over her ear where she places it as she looks at me.

"I bet you say that to all of the girls, Mr. Donahue." She touches her collar nervously and I open up the door. My cock is still hard and ready to play.

_Fuck!_

"Sit down and I'll fix you a drink to help you relax." Her eyes look at me with a steely gaze and then she walks around my very clean, well-designed office. She's surprised by its neatness, I suppose.

"No, thanks. I am not a drinker. I can't use alcohol to medicate myself," she answers, looking at me with her genuine resolve. Her body is perfect as I eye her up and down.

"Well, I'm going to have a glass of something to celebrate my newfound buddy," I say, looking out the massive club window.

She stands next to me and looks out and down to the floor below. There is house music playing and she sees the dancers behind the glass panels. Erotic, sexy and very naughty comes to mind, as I eye her watching the sexy party below.

"Um, I'll have a soda, Trey."

Her eyes zoom from me and straight back to the semi-naked windows, where some dancers are masturbating and some are kissing their partners and being totally naughty.

There is always a masterful erotic show going on at My Kinda Dirty. It's an erotica and BDSM themed club. With BDSM rooms available for hire to all members. She still can't seem to look away from the scenes that continue down below us, now.

"Um, Trey. Are they really touching themselves for real?" Her question seems obsolete to me, but she is obviously slightly turned on by it all. That's the point of it all, here.

"Yeah, usually. I mean the members complain if it looks fake. They like to watch. They are the voyeur windows to get members in the mood to hire a room." My mind moves to her crotch. _Fuck!_ I just want to undo those sexy jeans and touch her hot pussy.

"Trey, hire a room?" Her questions are making my dick pulsate, I just want to fuck her. Slowly, erotically, fast. I don't care how, right now.

"I can take you to one if you like, but you'll have to trust me." Her eyes look at me and sparkle in the light that emanates in through the large, glass window.

"Um, okay. Do we have to have sex, though? I haven't been with anyone in a really long time."

_Fuck!_ I'll have to tread carefully, she's still healing from her past. _Be nice, Trey,_ I tell myself.

"Well, we should just see how the moment takes us. I am a dominant male, if you understand what I mean by that."

I hope she doesn't need me to explain. I want to get down to business and make her pussy wet for my dick that is still bunching up in my fucking pants.

***

WE GET TO THE ROOM AND SHE IS HOLDING HER SODA. I FUCKING love being the owner of this place. But I'm going to get her to trust me so that I can have my way with her more than once. I like her, a lot.

_I need this to work._

I open the door and she allows her eyes to move over the red interior of the room. A firm, rubber bed sits easily in the center and there is a sex swing, plus also a moveable rack sitting just under the main, pressed, aluminum ceiling. Her eyes are wide as she steps into what I call, "Fantasy Land."

"So, this is where you do your thing? Your domination of women." Her tone is soft and warmer than it had been when we first met just an hour or so ago. Her hand is nervously touching her collar and it drives me wild.

"Uhuh." I close the door and it latches behind me. She jumps and I find her easily placed in my arms, wanting to kiss me.

I trail my kisses and place them on the side of her neck from behind her body. She breathes heavily for me and I begin to undress her. The vest pulls off easily and then I unbutton her cool, white blouse which sits perfectly over her perky breasts and I grab her waist in lust for her.

"Trey, I'm not... I mean I don't know how this works. Will you keep that in mind?" Her words come out in a moan of breathlessness. I will make sure she's fine with it.

My dick presses on her from behind as I unzip her jeans in passion. She is so fucking beautiful that I feel completely and unusually sentimental about her. It feels like it's her first time.

_Fuck, yeah._

"Lay on the bed for me and I'll show you what I do, alright?" I say, wishing my dick could go inside her and take her right now.

"Alright, Trey. But I don't normally do this..."

"Ssshh, you'll just have to trust me. I'm in control now." She quiets down without making another sound. I feel her warm breath touching onto the skin around my neck.

"I'm going to blindfold you, so you can feel my touch. Then I'm going to tether you to the head of the bed."

"But..."

"Ssshh, this is all about trust. You must trust me. I will not do anything to hurt you."

Her breath quickens as I raise her gorgeous arms up, getting ready to tie them. I tether each of her wrists to the top of the bed. I don't pull too tightly, _this time_. But she's definitely staying there, for now, that's for sure. I place my tongue on her neck and I lick her milky skin. Her hair is out of the way and sprawling recklessly over the bed.

"Fuck, you are so beautiful, Cara."

I lick and bite down to her left breast. I circle her nipple with my finger and it pebbles as she moans out a lustful breath of pleasure.

"Aah," she says. I watch her head move to the side as she writhes her body in anticipation of what I might do to her next.

"Good girl." I undo my jeans and let them go off my legs and onto the red, cool marbled floor. My boxers come off and my cock is set free and is still under her magical, erotic spell.

I move now to her other nipple which is already standing up and aroused. My tongue licks at her nipple and takes a healthy bite of her full breast.

"Ooooh," she moans, not expecting me to tease with such lust and wontedness. I want to eat her up and make her scream my name.

Her head is back as I grab onto her tits, pulling at them more wildly, and she lets her breasts be sucked and nibbled by me as I take the fulness of them into my hungry mouth. _It is so fucking unbelievably sexy._ She continues to moan, with a squeal that makes me even more wild for her.

_Fuck, yes!_

I move away, just for a small moment and I pick up the glass that still holds my drink. Hovering it over her warm body, I allow ice to drip on her as she lifts slightly, moving on the fresh sheets that sit fresh on the bed. She waits patiently for me to do it again. I am so keen to give her what her body needs.

"Mmm." She purses her sexy, full lips as I lick my ice off of her. She is more than I need and there's an intriguing mystery about her.

I place my arms up and steady myself, not allowing my dick to go in as it throbs from seeing her bound like a submissive. I haven't even started on her pussy, yet.

"Lift up your legs and don't make a sound." My voice is firm and unwavering. She does exactly as I request, her hair still sprawled out so sexily on the bed.

I reach down and ease of her panties off slowly as she holds in a moan. Her nipples still upright and pebbled for me.

"Mmmm, ooh," she says as I hold her legs up. Her thighs are full and it is so tempting but I hold onto my desire, for now.

Her milky, pale skin is silky and tort. I hook her legs up and she tries to remain silent.

"Don't struggle, I'll be gentle on you for your first time, okay?"

"Alright," she moans without realizing that she'll be punished for speaking out.

I walk to the cupboard and I pull out a wooden paddle.

"Smack, smack." I place it firmly high on the back of her thigh.

"Oooh," she lets a groan out.

"That was for answering. There is no talking in here. I know you understand. Unless I say 'speak,' you will remain still and silent."

She stays quiet, I want her to do as she's told.

"Are we clear?" I try to trick her but she's listened to me. "Good girl, you are doing a great job."

I eye her wet pussy and I place my finger into her opening and tease it just a small way inside. Her arms and legs are tethered and I have left the blindfold on.

"Aaaah, ohhh." Her moans are loud and I have told her to be silent.

"Smack, smack!" I hit harder, but it's on her sexy ass this time.

"There will be no loud moaning and you are to stay absolutely still, Cara." Her breath is heavy, and she pants instead of moans.

I move my finger in more to tease and she knows now not to move, or to struggle. She waits now, obeying me and I let her enjoy my touch. I push inside her more deeply with my soaked finger and use my other hand to circle over her clitoris. I think she knows what I'm about to do, but I allow her to wait just a while longer, as my finger moves in and out, slowly, but in a rhythm.

_Fuck! She's so hot, and the perfect submissive._

I want to take her right now in this moment, but there's still plenty of time and I know she needs this. It will help her forget about her troubles for a while.

I place my head down, now, in between her silky, cream legs. I let my mouth blow cool air on her as I pull my finger gently out and look at her soaking wet lips that are saying how ready she is for me.

_God, it's too good to be true._

_"Fuck yes. I need that!"_

## 3

# Cara

_"Umm... okay."_

I lay completely helpless. I am tethered with my legs high up in the air. It is the most erotic thing that has ever been done to me. It was only an hour ago that I met this obnoxious, self-serving man, named Trey Donahue. But in here he knows all the right moves. I feel too good, right now.

I am still blindfolded and my arms and legs bound by him, still. His mouth is kissing my moist pussy as it clenches hoping to be entered by him. I hear a humming sound as he enters in a vibrator. I am not expecting it. My head moves back and I grip my hands together in sheer pleasure as he punishes and pleasures me. I'm new to all of this so I am not quite sure which it is. It doesn't matter now, anyway.

I haven't touched myself for longer than I can remember, it just hasn't seemed like something I've wanted to do. With all of the sleepless nights and my own purposeful insomnia. I haven't felt this good for a really, desperately, long time.

"I will allow you to moan if you need to, Cara. But you mustn't breathe a word." He pushes the vibrator deep so it fills my walls.

"Aaah, oooh," I let out, feeling my legs tense in the perfect way.

"That's a good girl. See, we're going to get along just fine." He gets a perfectly insane rhythm and I am lost in a world of pleasure.

"Ooooh, ooooh, oooh." My sounds are loud but it's been too long since I've been able to cum.

He continues inside me and my legs are still up, seemingly floating in the air. I feel bliss from what he is doing to me. He pushes in again, further inside and the tip maintains a perfect arc touching my sweet spot and then going nearly all the way back out.

"Oh, yeah. You're so fucking wet, baby." His dirty words fulfil my desire.

Normally, I would say my piece about being called, "baby," but right now he can say anything he wants to me as long as he continues to maintain his unbelievably perfect rhythm. The vibrator twists in slightly and erotically, now.

"Ah, ah, ah, ah," I continue with my noises as he places his tongue on me, swirling it around my very sensitive clitoris, as I moan for it more.

I feel my body overcome with a million sensations, that playfully hover over me all at once. I am actually cumming. It is perfect, and I feel like I am healed slightly, in some weird and unexpected way.

"Ooooh, ooooh, yeah," I scream as my orgasm hits me in a wave of ecstasy. It's more than I could have ever imagined.

He untethers my legs and removes my blindfold, kissing my neck with a passion I've never felt before. Not from myself and definitely not from any other man.

"Fuck, you are so beautiful, Cara. I want to fuck you, now." His words are smooth and walk off his tongue in a dirty, lustful and perfect flirtatious way.

"Alright," I say, expressing my engagement and attraction to his hot want for me.

_I need him inside me._

He kneels in between my legs and I eye his gorgeous cock as it stands in all its glory; wild, untamed and ready for me.

"Oh my," I say, expressing my shock at its size wondering if I'll be able to take it all in.

"Sssh, baby. I'm going to fuck you now. I don't want to have to punish you again, but I will do it if I have to." His words command my absolute submission. All I can do now is let go and let him ravage me.

He trails kisses down my neck and I feel my pussy clench, wanting him. He enters the head inside and fills me up as he slides it further in. I am now being fucked by the sexiest man I have ever seen.

_It's insatiably good._

He pushes my knee up so he can get it all deep inside. I feel my pussy walls lubricate as he pummels in and out, ever so slowly, taking his time. It is so damn erotic and I feel drawn to him as I moan into his wanting mouth. My nipples are pebbled and even they feel like he should move into my lusting body... forever. It is the first time I've cum in at least a year, or maybe it's closer to two.

"Oh, fuck. Cara baby. You feel so good. I'm ready to make you cum again." Oh, he's just too much. Saying, " _fuck," "baby"_ and _"cum"_ all in the same sentence.

I moan as he still presses his lips onto mine. His tongue tussles around in my mouth and I feel like the sexiest woman that has ever walked the earth. He is picking up his pace and staying in a set rhythm as I brace each time he hits in, deep inside. I think it is possible to feel too much pleasure. I am overcome by him and his intoxicating pleasure.

"Moan for me, Cara."

His firm words let me go and I let my hips move and my walls vibrate as he slides so perfectly in and out of my longing pussy. He places a finger in my mouth and I suck on it and then I start to feel that I'm going to cum.

"I'm going to..."

"Moan for me Cara, cum on my wet cock."

I allow my body to go completely tensed and then relaxed with the wave of pleasure. My tight pussy clenches onto him and my wetness covers his hot, thick, cock.

"Oh, oh, yeah," I say. My body is alive and writhes under him in absolute, definitive passion.

"Good girl." He lifts my legs up now and kneels as he holds them so that they are swaying in the air. The angle of his member penetrates in a faster, more vigorous obsession. Then I feel another wave and I cum on his cock again, moaning and breathlessly squealing like a porn star.

"Fuck, Cara. Yeah."

He pulls his cock out of me and jerks it over my stomach. His hot, white cum lands on my belly and I feel better than satisfied. He is more than I can handle, and I'm addicted to his erotic ways. _I can't believe I just came three times._ I mean it's not possible? How can he do that to me? He is so bad, it's good. _Fuck, yeah!_

"It's possible that you might just be the sexiest man alive, Trey Donahue, you do know that, right?" I literally mean those words. He's given me more than he could possibly understand.

"That's funny, Cara. Are you my buddy now, finally?" We both laugh at the entire situation. It was supposed to be a 'get to know you,' kind of coffee.

"Uhuh," I say pulling my clothes back on.

He is still standing naked and his body is muscular and turning me on again so easily. He isn't ashamed of it. He oozes confidence which makes him so attractive to me.

"So, let's do this a few times a week. I'll have to teach you how to be the perfect submissive. So, then I can dominate you. I won't have anyone else. I'll keep myself just for you." His words feel scarily genuine. I couldn't deny him if I tried.

"Alright, it's a deal. But... you mustn't be with anyone else. I want your full attention on me every time," I say, cheekily adding to his idea for us.

"Cara, I guarantee it. I'll be the perfect host. Nine pm. On Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday." He hands me his gold business card. _Trey Donahue Sole Proprietor of My Kinda Dirty._

"So, we can still be buddies on Thursday nights with Dr. Bernard too?" I see his face wince a little as I mention it.

"Well, I have no choice about it, but if you want to bail I understand." He looks at me with those sexy, dark-blue eyes that wash over me like the ocean.

"I like Dr. Bernard so I'll continue to go. But you need to be a bit less..."

"Of a prick?" His face turns a cheeky smile.

_He did it on purpose to... tease me?_

"Tell me it was all an act, Mr. obnoxious Donahue," I say, widening my eyes and expecting the truth.

"Hmmm, I could get myself into trouble here. Let's just say I know what people need. Plus, Dr. Bernard would have been studying the whole conversation. Which is hilarious if you ask me!" His beautiful mouth shows his pearly whites inside and the crinkling of the skin either side of his mouth makes me instantly lose my point to the conversation.

"Right. Um, well thank you for the amazing time. I must get a cab home. I need to eat something." I feel my words come out in a slight blobbiness, like spilled ink on a page.

"Go to the Chinese place at the end of the block. They have Szechuan Chicken and amazing fried rice. The best fried rice in the whole of L.A."

"Thanks, Trey. Will you stay here for long at your club?" I ask him, not really wanting to go home to my tiny apartment to be alone with Fred my Siamese cat.

"Yeah, I've got to finish some paperwork and then check on how security is going. A few fake ID kids have been trying to get through lately." His hair falls over his face and I think about what he just did to me in the playroom we still stand in.

"Okay, then thank you again. I guess I'll see you on Sunday at nine. Will I meet you at the coffee shop or here?" I say, hoping desperately he still wants to meet up with me. I've never been this smitten about a man before.

"The coffee shop is good. But I can see you don't really want to leave now, do you?" His words slip off his tongue like a psychic, unquestioning their ability to know things.

"Um, well I would like to stay longer but you have work and I need to get up early to work tomorrow. So, Sunday will have to do." He notices me push my hair back behind my ear and he helps me place it where I aim it to go, like a romantic gentleman.

His sexy mouth hones in on mine and I feel my pussy clench onto nothing; my nipples pebble under my bra. It is one of the longest, most passionate kisses I've ever had. My problems seem to melt away as he moves his tongue inside, wriggling madly with mine. I feel like a teenager who's enjoying their new-found, French kissing partner.

_Wow!_

"Well, Cara, I don't usually say this but it's going to be a long wait until Sunday. I'm going to miss this." His words emulate my own thoughts about him. He could literally do anything he wants with me right now.

I turn and walk waving my hand to say goodbye. He closes the naughty door of the room we've been in and flips a tag that says, "CLEAN ME."

I walk around the sidewalk and I hail a cab. I want to try the Szechuan Chicken but I'm very tired. It will have to happen some other time. I need my bed and I think I might sleep through at least half of the night. I am going to try, I deserve to try. I slip into bed more than easily when I get to my apartment. My mind can only think of Trey.

***

WHEN I WAKE UP MY ALARM IS BUZZING WILDLY AT ME. BUT IT'S actually seven am! I've slept through the entire night and I am not tired at all. I feel wonderful. My body feels relaxed and fraught with those sensations of a perfect night's sleep in the most comfortable bed you could possibly sleep in.

_Could it be from the mind-blowing orgasms? Is that why I slept right through?_

I jump into the shower and I find myself singing a love ballad my mom used to sing when she cleaned the house when I was a small child. I really can't believe that it (sleeping right through the night) has finally occurred like that, and so quickly. I am definitely going to go to work with a skip in my step and I was sure Annalise would notice the vast difference in me. I was going to be the perky, loving, caring, overly-saturating receptionist she needed me to be. The one that I'd started being before the PTSD got to me.

I pick a bubbly pink blouse and a white A-line skirt (which I iron) and then I put my hair up into a cute little twist bun. I do my makeup perfectly and I even add some nice pearls to tie down the whole look. I feel nearly too good. Like I am high on life or something. And all I want to do is make it up to Annalise. All the laziness, the falling asleep at the desk, the mixed-up files, and the shitty friendship I have given her for the last two or more years. I just want it to last.

When I get to work, I'm early. I put the coffee pot on and I open the blinds and the door which swings so lovingly in the cool breeze as I open it. It creaks cheerfully. There's nothing that could spoil my day, today. I am like the Buddhist that's found enlightenment for the first time, or a woman seeing her baby healthy soon after it has been born. I am simply in my own beautiful heaven as I continue opening the clinic. Everything is changed and it's all because of Trey. Even my stomach has lost the butterflies that used to fly around invisible for so long, and the thick swallow in my hoarse throat has turned back into a river of saliva that is not gripped by endless, insurmountable fear.

The tightness around my neck has now loosened to a gentle loving grip that used to squeeze until I thought I was going to stop breathing. I remembered how it choked me every single disgusting day.

_But am I healed? Today, yes, I am_.

Nothing is going to rain on this girl's parade. Not even the rain!

_"Umm... okay."_

## 4

# Trey

_"I hate waiting."_

IT HAD BEEN TWO, LONG AND ARDOUS DAYS since I had seen her in my playroom at My Kinda Dirty. I thought about how her hair had sprawled so fucking erotically all over the bed. And about the way her fists had clenched and wanted to relax when she came. The way her nose curled up and crinkled in a delightful expression when she thought about what she was going to say next. Oh, yeah and the two freckles that sat together on the back of her left thigh.

_Fuck, thank God it is nearly nine_.

I don't think I could wait another moment here in the coffee shop. I just need to see her again.

I watch the door as it flings open and closes again, allowing people in and out of it so monotonously. My eyes are strained from the newspaper I was reading just a moment before. I needed to check a few of the ads we were running for the club. We needed two waitresses and some new dancers, the triple X kind. We needed them to demonstrate for BDSM shows, sexual acts, and other crazy stuff that was not for the faint hearted.

I can't fucken wait anymore. I feel like I am going crazy, and then, she is there; her eyes were searching for me, like a lost puppy in a busy street. Except this was a busy cafe, and I was a very lusty old dog with lots of tricks to show her in my fantastic erotic world of BDSM.

"Hey, Trey, it's nice to see you again," she says smiling, taking off her brown, knitted scarf.

"You are three minutes and fifty-nine seconds late, I'll have you know." I like to stir her up. It makes her screw up her nose.

"Well, I thought I would find a book in the store before I came to see you, but I got stuck in a line behind an older man. He couldn't find his wallet and well, you know how it goes." I look at her mouth as she speaks and my dick is hard automatically, again.

_Fuck, I've never been this into a chick before._

"Please tell me more, I like listening to you talk, Cara." She bites her bottom lip and blushes like a schoolgirl. She's just too much.

"Well, I was looking for this book called _By the Ocean_ or _In the Deep Ocean_ by Nina something, I can't remember her last name. But I couldn't find it, anyway. I bought a few magazines for work instead." Her eyes shimmer in the pale light. Coffee is absolutely the last thing that filters into my mind.

"Uhuh. So, this ocean story is significant, why?" I look into her genuine eyes.

"Well, because it is a survivor story, like mine I guess. The woman was taken hostage out at sea and her captors threaten to kill her, but she survives it all, and it's got a bestseller rating and I would like to read it, that's all." Her words fill me with intrigue and I can't wait to listen to more.

A woman who can hold an interesting conversation and send my dick into a hot, bulging flurry of want.

_Fuck!_

She continues talking and I am eager to listen. Her words filling an empty part inside me that have not been catered too in a very long time. Back in college, I loved to read and my life had taken a bad turn when my brother went to jail for a murder he didn't commit. I felt it strange that one woman could change how I felt that much, right in this moment of now. I thought only BDSM and alcohol could give me the highs I needed. I hadn't even wanted a drink since I met her just a few days ago. She was the drug I craved for, now. There was just something extraordinarily special about her. I couldn't place it.

"...Trey, I've got to tell you that I haven't been able to stop thinking about the last time we were together. I mean I won't get into the details but I haven't slept so well in a really, really long time." Her hand sits on top of mine and my dick is fully erect. Now, a warm, fuzzy feeling flows inside me.

_She's definitely perfect._

"Do you have insomnia?" I ask, trying not to obviously pry. I know Cara my new Reach Out buddy will tell me more of her story, but it will be in her own good time.

"No, I suffer night terrors and PTSD, except since Thursday, I've been totally fine. It's miraculous!" She flicks her hair and it cutely sweeps over her face.

_Fuck, I'm totally weak for her._

"Shit, I am glad you feel better. My friend got both of those when he came back from overseas. He was in the Army. He's been really quite unwell for a lot of years, actually." I want to keep talking which is really strange, especially for me.

"Yeah, well I don't like to bring up my past much. It's not something I can relive very easily." She bites her bottom lip again. "Trey, are we going to? Well, you know... again."

I intentionally tease. "Order coffee?" I wink as I say it and she knows I am playing with her. She crinkles up her nose.

"Yeah, coffee at My Kinda Dirty." Her eyes light up and she sweeps her hand through her long hair, flirting with me and tempting me again.

"Hmmm, are you going to be a good girl and do as I say?" I ask, loudly so other patrons can nearly hear.

"Sssh, don't talk so loud. Yes, yes. I'll be good." Her whisper sends me signals I can't begin to explain. My new buddy is horny for me. Fuck, I wasn't expecting her to push like that. Its, too sexy.

"Mmm, let's get out of here." I hold my arm around her waist as if we are a fundamental item. She looks at me with passionate eyes, but there is still some mystery I can't explain.

***

WE ENTER THE PLAYROOM. WE ARE both extremely horny.

"It's going to be the same again tonight. But this time I need you to be quiet, understand?" She's already breathless as I speak to her.

I undress her as I kiss her passionately.

"Lay on the bed. I will allow you to moan if you need to, Cara. But you mustn't breathe a word." I tie her arms, legs and blindfold her.

I pick up my toy and push the vibrator deep, and she is not moaning. She is still and quiet. I feel her thighs and her legs tense as I go in.

"That's a good girl. See, we're going to get along just fine you are doing perfect for me. Good girl." I get into a steadier rhythm and her back arches slightly.

Her legs remain tied up, I push in again, just a bit further inside and the tip maintains a perfect arc that is touching her beautiful sweet spot and then going nearly all the way back out to make her feel my pleasure.

_She looks gorgeous panting for me._

"Uhuh, yes. You're so fucking wet, baby." Her body totally blows my fucking mind. She remains still and silent, behaving for me.

She continues trying not to make noises and I easily place my wet tongue all over her mound and clitoris, swirling it around as she breathes helplessly not allowed to moan.

I feel her body overcome with erotic sensations, that playfully take over her all at once. She is definitely cumming very soon. It is perfect, and I feel so good she's managed to breathe and not moan, but I want her to make a sound, now. _It turns me on._

_"_ Moan for me, Cara."

"Ooooh, ooooh," she screams out as I push the vibrator deep into her.

_It's just too good._

I untether her legs and remove her blindfold, I must keep kissing her neck with a passion I've never felt before _._

_I need her._

"Fuck, you are so sexy, Cara. I really want to fuck you, now."

"Please Trey."

_She_ _needs me inside of her._

I stand up and I take off my shirt and jeans allowing her to eye my body that's desperately ready to enter her. I kneel in between her legs and she eyes my erect cock as it stands up for her, wanting to touch deep inside.

"Please..." she begs me and her mouth opens as I move toward her.

"Sssh, baby. I'm going to have to fuck you now. My words command her absolute submission. All she can do now is let go and let me ravage her body.

I continue my trail of kisses down her erotic neck and I feel my dick pulsate, wanting her. I enter the head inside and it fills her up and she nearly moans for me.

"Sssh, baby. Just breathe, for now." I want her still and silent. I want to fully dominate her.

"Oh, fuck. Cara. You feel so good. I'm gonna have to make you cum again. But there's no talking or moaning."

I moan into her mouth as she kisses me back. I've pushed my mouth hard onto hers in a want I've never known. Her tongue tussles around recklessly in my mouth and I feel like I could instantly cum, but I won't just yet. I am picking up my pace and staying in a deliberate and set rhythm as I am overcome by her breathlessness and her intoxicating, tight pussy that pleasures me.

"Moan for me, Cara."

"I'm going to cum!" Her head tilts back and she arches her back, tensing again.

"Moan for me Cara, cum on my fucking cock."

I feel her body go from being completely tensed up to very relaxed underneath me. Alive with the wave of pleasure she feels. I know it feels so good as she makes more noise.

"Oh, oh, yeah, oooh, oooh."

"Good girl." I penetrate now in a faster, more vigorous obsession for her. Then I feel another tense and release as she cums again on my fast, hot, wet cock.

"Fuck, yeah, Cara. Good girl."

I feel her arching her perfect back underneath me and her face is flushed and then her mouth makes the perfect O. I want to keep going inside her so I slow myself right down, feeling every inside detail of her tight, inner walls.

"Oh, oh," she moans, each time I hit her sweet spot. My cock is filled with desire, but I feel like she deserves even more.

I use her shoulders to pull myself up, cupping my hot hands around each one. I delve into her mouth and she moans into mine as we continue our slow and sensual lovemaking. I have never felt such a strong connection before, with anyone. It's like my whole body and soul needs to have her slowly, perfectly, and over and over again.

"Fuck, Cara, I'm cumming." My whole body shakes as my cock fills her up inside. We are both completely spent. I untie her wrists and we lie together.

I think about the ocean book she needs by Nina someone or other. I am going to make it my business to find it for her by Tuesday. I haven't told her yet, but I have not been angry since our first time here at the club. That's really unusual for me since the whole reason I'm seeing Dr. Bernard is to curb my anger.

I never did get a record from smashing up the dvd store I was in front of when my brother got put away unlawfully for the murder he didn't commit. I was lucky my fancy pants lawyer knew what she was doing. Plus, I had plenty of money to pay for the damages, including fifty (extra) grand that kept me out of jail and worked as a bribe to the reasonable store owner. He was good about it all, really. If it was Cloud 9 that someone was smashing up I would have been totally fucking pissed.

"Trey you are amazing. I'm more than satisfied." Her hair falls down behind her back and I spoon with her, feeling my dick on her round ass.

"I am proud of how you behaved just now, Cara. Lying still and staying silent like a good girl." I feel my dick harden again.

"So, as the dominant, you are always in charge. You tell me what to do, is that it?" She turns around and touches my warm dick with her hand.

"Yes, Cara. A submissive always tries to behave otherwise they get punished. You'll find out more about that when I get harder on you." Her eyes light up as she holds my dick.

"Harder?" She smiles cheekily, taking a firm hold of me in her sexy hand.

"Uhuh, more challenging, I mean." She plays with my balls and I find it hard to talk. "Ah," I let out a groan.

"Mmm...so when can I be dominant with you?" she asks still playing with me. I feel like I could fucking explode as her touch turns me rock solid in her hand.

"You can't unless I want you to. I am the dominant and if we ever get to the Master and Slave scenario then you'll be totally submissive even when we talk." My finger goes inside her, stating that I am in control, here.

"Aaaah," her pussy clenches as I add another finger. Her mouth makes a perfect O.

"Trey Donahue you are just too insatiable. I..." I start to finger her and she can only moan.

"Hmmm, yes. I want you to moan for me, Cara. I need you to moan." I bring my fingers to a steady rhythm, taking control and watching her pant and moan for me. It's more than good, watching her.

"Ooooh, oooooh," she lets out in a breathless pant. I just can't stop wanting her.

I use a slight force and I flip her over, "Get on your knees or be punished."

Her breath quickens and I continue with my fingers inside her glistening pussy, that looks more than fucking sexy as I look at her from behind. Her sweet ass right up high in the air.

"Be as loud as you can, baby. It's making me want to put my cock inside you, so badly." Her panting grows louder and it sends her over the edge as she cums on my fingers.

"Yes, that's right, good girl."

I enter my hot dick inside her and she lets out another erotic moan. It slides in and out in a medium rhythm and I feel like I am the only man who could ever pleasure her properly. She is more than enough and I want to keep going all night.

"Oooh, ooooh, oooh." My cock pushes her in all the right places. I feel her ass pushing back onto me and that's when I let myself go.

"Fuck, Cara. You are the most beautiful woman alive."

My hot, wet cum finds space in her.

_"I hate waiting."_

## 5

# Cara

_"I miss you like I don't know what."_

THE WORKING WEEK WAS ALREADY HERE AND THANK GOD IT IS Tuesday, already. I missed his touch and I could feel myself daydreaming about the time we had shared together. I sat at work in awe of the man I had spent two glorious dates with, in the delicious playroom at his own creation, the saucy My Kinda Dirty. It had been more than erotic, cheekily dirty and more explicit than anything I had done before. I craved him, more now. I would get to see him again, tonight. I could not wait.

The miracle of my PTSD disappearing so far was very relevant in my mind. I knew I shouldn't believe in childhood fantasies or fairy tales, but it was the truth. Trey and his pleasuring had sent my body over the edge so that I had become unhinged and open. I just wasn't afraid anymore. I didn't maintain my normal anxious demeanor that had crouched over me like a massive lion, devouring me at nighttime when I was all alone, anymore.

I felt freed by him. The gorgeous man that had been so cheeky at our first meeting. He had managed to help me relax and literally get off my high horse. It all felt like magic. My subconscious and conscious craved him all of the time. When I didn't see him, I thought about him. His cheeky smile, the fire in his eyes and his unbelievably sexy body. I suck in a breath. Yes, his unreal, enormously well-endowed body. Wrapping mine up like it was trying to be one with me.

I try to control my flushed thoughts, but the passion overtakes my mind. It's really hot in here. I feel very aroused thinking about what will happen tonight.

My image is broken by a sudden interruption. "Hi, I'm here to see Dr. Joseph. I filled in the forms last week. I think you might need to look at yourself in the mirror. You've got quite a rash." The woman's voice is brash and she can obviously see my flushed face.

"Thank you. I have hay fever which seems to flare up this time of year. Sometimes, the antihistamines don't work very well for me," I say, trying to change the subject. "She's running on time today, so you'll be in next." I beam a perfect smile.

The dark-haired woman sits down and waits for Annalise. She's one of those women that makes a big deal out of everything. Pointing out flaws and judging everything there is wrong with anything at all, just for the sheer pleasure of it. I watch and wait. If I am right she'll get annoyed about something or complain about something insignificant.

She walks to the counter again. "It's just you could be contagious, Miss. I don't think it's safe for the babies and children."

And, "Bingo." I knew she would be a right pain in the perineum. I hear the clicking of Annalise's footsteps coming to rescue me now.

"I can assure you, Ma'am. It's not contagious." I swallow my pride and keep the whole lovely secretary smile.

"Miss Pellegrino, hi, please come in." It's Annalise coming to save me from the sheer idiocrasy of the woman who has no wrinkles in her clothes and smells of peach moisturizing lotion _._

_I hate peaches._

"I think your secretary is contagious," she bumbles on. The door closes and she is all gone, for now. Annalise's turn for a while.

I laugh at the way people are sometimes. They think they can just look at you once and say whatever they want. What if my blotchy face was a birthmark? I mean would she then need state the fact that I get it removed?" Just to satisfy her own comfort zone insecurities in my presence.

I swallow a last sip of my cold coffee. I'll need a little more to get through this morning. I shouldn't be mean about the woman, but I felt a little stepped on by her. Most of the women that came to the clinic were meek and mild, or both. They usually just needed some kind advice or one of the available health checkups, to maintain the care and provision for their new child, or children in the case of twins or triplets, or more.

The woman filters out again still babbling on about something to Annalise this time. "Well, Doctor. I think that it should be obliviously obvious that the maintenance is performed more than monthly. How can you possibly accept that to be the norm?"

"Annalise Joseph. Dr. Annalise Joseph. It's in the bookstores, and it's called, _Caring for Your Newborn Child_. Please feel free to purchase a copy. All of my stances and recommendations are in there."

Annalise still beams a smile at the awkward women who wants to bitch and moan about what's wrong with everything. Her world is made from her point of view alone.

"No, thank you. It won't change my mind. Doctor Fielding discussed the importance of weekly performance checks in her highly rated manuscript, _The Child at Play_." Her upper lip needs waxing I think, as I see the hairs above her top lip. _Gross!_

"Oh, yes, that book is fantastic for children. But babies are somewhat different. Zero to two years is the focus of my writing. But Doctor Fielding's work is very good." Annalise moves her eyes to the appointment book and I hope to God that the woman leaves. I'm feeling like I could say something... pivotal.

"Well, if I can get in next week I will be here. I need to get to my hair appointment first. So, it will need to be after one." I feel sorry for the hairdresser. This woman is more than I can bear for even three minutes.

"There's a space here at two next week on Tuesday. Will that be alright?" asks Annalise still managing to give a smile.

"Yes, get your secretary to write the card. No, actually, I don't want to catch that blobby virus that she's got. I'll put it into my phone. See you next week. I'm sure you will see me on time." She walks out the door still fumbling around with her cell phone and judging the woman arriving who is carrying one screaming child and a sleeping toddler in a pram.

She allows the woman with the baby to lovingly hold the door open for her! I am in utter disbelief. The woman is a total nightmare.

"Well, that was fun!" says Annalise smirking.

"Apparently, I am an insignificant leper who cannot touch anything," I say smirking.

We both laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of the fake woman that lives in her own bubble of argumentativeness.

"Where's her baby, anyway?" I ask Annalise in curiosity.

"She's being babysat by a nanny. She came in to tell me the weight of her baby. She said it was too inconvenient to bring her in."

We both smile and then I place my concentration to the woman and two children. She is breastfeeding now and the toddler is still asleep in the pram. Gorgeous blond hair and curls. The toddler looks so comfortable laying back with a stuffed, plush giraffe in her tiny little hand.

***

WE MEET AT THE COFFEE PLACE AND I WAS JUST ON time. I had to worm my way into the tight dress and stockings that I bought last month. Knowing it fit me easily then made me wonder if I was getting pudgy. I didn't mind. No one could stop me from eating what I wanted. All of those calories were significant to me. I probably could just hold back a touch on the chocolate croissants, though. But somehow, they were always calling out to me when I bought my morning coffee. The smell of food lingering through so early in the morning. It was more than divine.

"Hey, there beautiful. Can I have your number?" I turn to hear the deep voice trying to wrangle me into something. Then I realize it is Trey.

"You are late, Mr. Hotshot Business Owner!" I look at his perfect body. It holds a clean crisp shirt and dark denim jeans. His body sends me signals that I can't explain. If he were a food, he would definitely be chocolate. Pure, dripping, sexy chocolate.

"Hotshot. Mmm, well I guess I am. You haven't told me what you do during the day." My body aches for his. I try to focus on his question.

"I'm a secretary at my friend's clinic. Well sort of a partner, I suppose. We see single mom's and their babies." I feel him looking at my dress. His eyes are looking at my breasts.

"Mmm, you like that kind of thing? Helping people?" I see no point to his question. _Of course, I like helping people,_ unless it's that point of view woman. I don't like her at all.

"Yeah, sure. Don't you?" I look at his expression. Our coffees are here. He must have ordered them because I didn't.

"No, not really. Most people are self-serving hypocrites unless they actually care for the planet. Like the Native Americans or real activists like Greenpeace." He sips his coffee. He has the sexiest stubble and I want to kiss him.

_His lips are wet and God he's hot._

"Is it hot in here? I feel like I'm burning up." I am horny just watching him drink coffee and I hope my face isn't all flushed... again.

"Yeah, it is pretty stuffy. Should we go to the club so I can show you around?" His voice is keen and seductive. I feel slightly embarrassed and I feel my nipples pebble under my dress.

"Uhuh." He doesn't need to ask me twice.

***

WE WALK IN THROUGH THE FRONT ENTRANCE. HE DOESN'T even need to join the line that curves around, hugging the building like an outstretched arm. It's ridiculously busy and I feel excited to be his guest, tonight. My Kinda Dirty is the perfect name for a club. The music is loud, but I can still hear myself think. The crowd is dressed to seduce. Woman are wearing collars and men are pulling them around. There are some lesbian and gay couples as well. All of them look dressed to impress and there is a stage full of women in lingerie. Wrestling I think.

"It's Masters and Slaves tonight. It's like the usual dominant and submissive, but with balls." He laughs at his explanation and I can smell the yummy coffee on his breath.

"So, these people just play the role here at the club. Or is it something they do full-time?" I watch the women kneel under the men who sit at tables with other men, mostly.

The woman who are collared have their head and eyes downcast. It should seem degrading, but I find myself intrigued by it all. They are being completely submissive.

"What do you want to drink?" he asks, flicking a smile at me, which also incorporates his wanting eyes.

"Just an orange juice will be fine." He forgot to answer my question. Then he sips and looks around, ogling the crowd.

"Actually, many of them play this outside of the club. Some, come here to learn more and some like to show off their Slave. It fires them up to be in charge in front of their peers and in front of strangers." He takes my hand and winks at me.

"Where are we going?" I ask, trying not to spill my drink.

"Backstage. We can get a good look at the auction from back there. It's really fun." I try to keep up with him as he pulls me through the crowd.

I feel my legs nearly at a run to catch up with him. The gorgeous owner of this whole saucy, sexy place. It is naughty, dirty and not for the faint hearted that's for sure. My eyes widen as I watch the young pretty girls get ready to be placed on show. They wear see-through, classy lingerie with tight panties that are sequined. Every one of them also wears suspenders and a pair of shiny, high heels. Their hair is placed up in buns or plaits. They all wear voluptuous red lipstick and dark eyeshadow and more mascara than I've ever even owned before. It is a stunning sight to see them walk out on stage. Even I'd date them. They are so sexy, but with lots of sass and class.

"These girls are my regular auction girls. Ten beauties just for the men, or the women, sometimes." I see them turn around and bend over, teasing the crowd.

"Auctioned to..."

"The highest bidders. It is the price they pay to get to play in the playrooms. Three hours is what they pay for." My eyes light up.

_They are hookers?_ I feel my pussy aroused by the idea.

"Like real hookers, you mean?" My words sound brash but I want him to explain it to me.

"They are trained in BDSM fantasy. High-class hookers who really know their game. They're popular here. Once or twice a week they get auctioned off. They can play a dominant or a submissive role." He looks at me with those sexy eyes of his.

I feel intrigued that he likes this BDSM stuff so much. I feel my heart beat faster as I watch them walk around on stage.

"How much do they cost?" I ask, with eyes still placed like glue on the stage.

"Bidding starts at five-grand. They get to keep ten percent of the bid for the services they give. I have got lots of happy customers, here." I smell his cologne.

My pussy clenches wanting more of this lifestyle. It's so sexy everywhere. The crowd, the auction, and Trey. It makes me feel like I am in a fantasy world.

"Wow, so this place really is My Kinda Dirty?" He smiles at my suggestion.

"I like to think so. Everyone usually leaves horny or satisfied. There's lots more. Something new every night of the week." His eyes fall onto mine. "You like what you see here, don't you, Cara?"

My exhale leaves me and I bite my bottom lip, "Yes, I do. Very much."

"We've only just touched the surface. If you had a week. I could show you so much more." His words are eager and he kisses my neck. We are in the dark, apart from the flashy lights that billow from the stage.

"Trey, I want you to show me everything." My breathlessness is obvious as he kisses me. "I am due for time off from work."

He looks at me holding my shoulders, "Really?"

"Uhuh." I bite my lip again, wanting him.

"Fuck, I want you, Cara." He pulls on my hand and I follow him, excited to be alone.

I know where we're going. My nipples stand erect as we run together through to our room.

_"I miss you like I don't know what."_

## 6

# Trey

_"Perfection is mine."_

I STAND BEHIND HER. SHE IS PERFECT SWAYING there ready for me to tease. I had just tied her perfectly to the lowered rack in the playroom. I had bound her wrists and hooked her up so easily without any fuss at all. She was breathless, nipples pebbled and searching for me with her eyes that looked nearly on fire with passion. I can see them as I kiss her neck, wanting her.

My mind is set on making her work for pleasure. She would need to earn the right to cum. I was going to see how willing she was.

"Cara. I am in control. You will not speak, move or moan. Otherwise, you will be punished." Her beautiful head tilts up, and she tries to do as I say, almost immediately, stilling herself.

"Good girl." My words are firm and strong.

I place my mouth on her neck and push my erect cock into her naked ass cheek. I move my hand over her pebbled nipple and circle it with a sensual finger. Tracing it around she squirms a little. I realize I want her to fail.

I walk away and I bring my hand up to spank her. "Whack, whack."

I hit her three times. She lets out a moan and my cock is like stone as I eye her voluptuous body from behind.

"You must not moan." I hit hear again, slightly harder this time.

"Whack!"

She stays still and I hear her panting, trying deliciously to stop her own aroused moans.

"That's a good girl."

I get behind her again. One hand beckons on her tort nipple and the other on the yearning mound of her pussy. I touch just above the clitoris and she pants for me. Her breathing turning me on.

I still want her to fail, so I press my cock hard on her ass and I circle her clitoris wetting my finger to tease her again, blatantly.

"Ah, oh."

"Smack!" I use my hand this time, desperate to touch her body. _Fuck she's so aroused._

She remains quiet and it makes me groan.

"Yes, good girl," I say still teasing her.

I walk around and look into her sparkling, pale-blue eyes. I press my lips onto hers and I enter a finger into her pussy.

"Mmmm, oooh."

I step away and let her think about her actions. I walk behind and smack her ass with my naughty hand.

"Smack!"

Her gorgeous legs stand perfectly and I remember how wet she felt just a moment ago, when I had placed my finger inside.

"You need to be still and quiet. Then I'll reward you." Her body aches for me. I can see it in her eyes.

I stand again and kiss her neck. I push my finger inside and I trace up the inner wall inside of her soaking pussy. Slowly teasing her. My finger is soaked and I want to make her cum.

She breathes and remains still.

"Good girl, ssh."

I place my mouth on her lips and my tongue pushes inside. She is kissing me back passionately and she is hungry for more pleasure. She breathes loudly and I finger inside at a steady pace. I use two fingers and go deep inside.

Her breath is fast and my cock is desperate to enter her, but I need to see her cum. I like to watch her. We kiss and I place my cock hard on her leg, fingering wildly as she gets off on it all.

_What a good girl._

"Moan for me. Cum on my fingers, Cara," I whisper, wanting to push my hot cock inside.

"Ah, oooh, ah, God."

I keep pushing and move my mouth down to her glistening pussy. I lick at her clitoris and I watch her writhe as my hand moves, fingering in and out. It's pure Heaven.

"Ooooh, oooh, oh." She's cumming.

Her body tenses as it sways and I feel her pussy clench onto my wet fingers. I am going to fuck her when I get her down.

"Good girl," I say, untying her from the rack above. She is flushed and her body heaves, turning me on.

I decide to turn it up a bit. "Get on all fours, NOW!" I try to see my words as I say them in a forceful tone. I want her to feel my control.

"Trey, please... I can't."

She gets her cuffs removed and she is in tears and my swollen heart breaks into pieces watching her place her clothes back on.

"Oh, my God, what's wrong?"

Her tears flow down her flushed face and I am lost for words. My heart can't bear to see her like this. I went too far.

"I, I, um, I..."

"Here, ssh. Calm down. Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth. Look at my eyes and focus. You're alright, Cara." I hold her in my arms and she wraps herself in the fetal position on my lap on the bed.

I feel helpless as she tries to look into my eyes, fighting to breathe.

"I'm having a panic attack. I was yelled at when I was taken as a hostage and..." I see her still trying to create breath in her lungs.

"Sssh, tell me later. When you feel better. Please just breathe." I hadn't known her past was this bad. I shouldn't have yelled at her. Fuck.

She stays curled up in my arms and I feel like I need to help her for a longer period of time than just tonight. I rub her back gently. Her breathing seems to continue in a more normalized rhythm. _Thank God._ I rock back and forward like a mother would do with her baby. I want her to be mine. I need to heal her. I need to make all of this go away.

_I must be in love._

_***_

I KNEW IT NOW. I THOUGHT IT WAS possible but seeing her vulnerable like this made it more than clear in my mind.

"It's what you said. You said, 'get on all fours' and that's what one of the men said. I'm sorry Trey." Her (just a moment ago), lifeless body sits up and she kisses my neck, sensually.

"God, Cara, I'm so sorry I'll never say that again." Her kisses become more breathless and passionate.

Her mouth delves into mine and our tongues blissfully twist together wanting more. I never got a chance to be inside of her.

"Please make love to me, Trey." Her words are low and sweet. I want to be inside of her perfect pussy.

"Are you sure. I feel really bad about what happened just now." Her eyes light up and she looks deep into my wanting, hungry eyes.

"I really need you to, Trey. Please take me." I place her down on the bed, laying my warm body on top of her so desperate to be inside.

We kiss and our tongues continue wrestling with the other. My cock slides into her as if it knows where to go and I make love to the most perfect woman I've ever met, slowly and sensually. It is more than erotic as our bodies meld as one.

I push my hips and she pushes her pussy up and meets me half way. The entanglement of our bodies feels like an art form or something phenomenal that art or literature can't even begin to explain.

Her hair spreads out in a mess of tangled passion on the bed and her breasts heave and move as we make love to each other. She moans underneath me. It is completely erotic and I feel like we are healing each other as we entwine our bodies. It is surreal, perfect and more than I can bear as I watch her cum again. Her mouth in the perfect O.

"Oh, Trey. Oh yes."

"Cara, I love you." The words roll out from my mouth before I can trap them back in. I wasn't supposed to complicate everything... yet.

She holds my ass and pushes me deeper, letting her passion for me take hold again. She thrusts her hips in a faster rhythm and I follow it wanting to cum inside her. Pushing myself deeper in.

"I know, Trey. I love that you love me." Her words are perfect. I don't expect a response from her that meets mine.

I press my cock hard and fast to the rhythm she's adjusted me too. Our bodies moan and groan together. Her pussy feels soaked and tight and my cock is like a hot, wet shaft of pleasure dipping inside her, helping her to moan out as we force our passion on one another.

"Ah, ah, ah, ah." She continually moans as I push in.

The sweat pours out from the pores of my body and it is lust and love that drives me. I feel like I could fuck her forever. The heat from our bodies lights up my world, and everything is still except for her. She is the lone trumpet in the band. But all of the other instruments seem small and insignificant.

_All I need is Cara._

Her hand presses on my ass and I thrust inside feeling the pleasure of her overtaking me.

"I'm cumming, Cara," I groan. She kisses my mouth deeply and her eyes are full of tears. She is smiling and happy and my heart belongs to her.

"Trey Donahue, I'm also very much in love with you." She says the words and I feel like a schoolboy that's buying all of the candy in the entire store. My whole world is changing in front of my eyes and it's all because of her.

I lay next to her and look into her eyes. Her face looks so innocent and her skin is creamy and soft. Her mouth is framed by dimples on either sides of her cheeks and it's like I'm looking at a world-renowned piece of art. Hard to take my eyes away from this perfected piece, I kiss her ear.

"If you ever need to talk about your ordeal I am always here." The words come out of my mouth in a genuine want that is filled with care and compassion.

"I can't Trey. I'm too vulnerable right now." She holds my face and then brings her body into mine.

"Whenever you want, I'm here." I express it to her again. I love how she is pure truth. I feel so connected to her in this beautiful moment.

I turn her around so I am spooning her. I love feeling my groin on her ass. She needs to sleep and I want to be here if and when she needs me. I feel myself falling into a deep, relaxed cuddle. It only takes a few moments and she is sound asleep.

My phone beeps.

I get up from the luxurious bed and I look at the message. It's from my manager Jack Porter.

"Hey there Trey. Everything is cool but I need you to speak with Nancy. The deliveries are going to be postponed for a week. Something to do with the fucking supplier, again."

I text back a little pissed off that he's not dealing with it. Fuck, I pay him enough.

"We can't talk here. I'll meet you tomorrow at the dock. Twelve noon."

I hate delivery companies. They're all the same, really. I know it sounds harsh but Jack can arrange it with some other fucking company, surely. So, long as the deal is the same and we aren't being shafted. It shouldn't matter.

"I need to go home, Trey." Cara has woken and she looks more beautiful than I could have imagined. I place my cell phone down.

"Let me get us a nightcap before you go. Want a cup of tea or something?" I don't want her to leave. My eyes move genuinely over her naked body.

"Okay, that would be nice. Have you got chamomile?" Her legs look like silk as she places them over the edge of the mattress.

"I think so." I walk away and to the kitchen. My cell starts to ring. "Can you answer it, it might be Jack."

I continue down the hall and I feel satisfied. I am in love with the most beautiful, sexy, vulnerable woman I have ever met. I don't know how else to describe my heart right now, except that it all feels so right.

***

I GET BACK IN THE ROOM. CARA IS DRESSED AND WALKING out. I've obviously missed something.

"Where are you going, Cara?" Her voice sounds unamused.

_She's spoken to Jack?_

"I can't do this with you, Trey. I should have known why you went to Dr. Bernard. A fucking seducer. You never said that." Her eyes are usually full of passion have turned to look at me with disgust.

"I'm not a seducer, Cara. What the actual fuck did he say?" I feel my body rise in a temper meant for Jack. It's too late now, I'm pissed.

"Are you really going to yell at me? I am not even going to discuss it with you. I can't deal with you." She goes to walk out but I stand like a guard at the door.

"Cara. You just said you loved me. I am in love with you. Stop running away and deal with this, right now." Her face screws up and she tries to get through, but it's no use, I won't let her.

"Trey Donahue, so help me. Let me out of this room." She pulls on my arms, but I won't let her go.

"Tell me what he said first and then I will." My stance is strong and her eyes are like wildfire, piercing through me.

"He said, 'Hi, Cara. Mmm, you must be Trey's new toy. He loves using women to play his games. Has he taken you into the playroom yet?'"

Fuck, Jack. You're such a total prick. I feel bile rise up into my chest.

"I'm sorry, Cara. He's a total fucking asshole. We muck around a lot. He doesn't have any respect, I'm sorry he said that."

She looks me square in the eye and she is more than livid. Her face looks red like a flushed peach or maybe another ripened fruit. I don't know what to do. I have always been a player... but not with her.

_I love her._

The tears fall down her face. "I thought you were different, God damn you. I thought I'd finally found the one. But it's not possible that I can be happy. It's just not supposed to be in my fucked up little excuse of a life. How many girls have you had here Trey? How many women have you actually seduced with your dirty talk?"

I am turned on by her anger. I want to push her down on the bed and fuck her right now. Fuck...

_"Perfection is mine."_

## 7

# Cara

_"Sometimes you just have to take a chance."_

I STAND LOOKING AT HIM IN ANGER. HE IS SO GOOD looking and sexy. He wouldn't let me leave. I wanted to scream about the words Jack had said to me. My pride meant more than anything after my ordeal. I swore no man or men would ever make me feel insignificant again. But I had been foolish thinking he really loved me. I'm wild.

"Please, Cara. I've never felt this with any other woman. You make me feel like it's just me and you. I couldn't care less what Jack said. He is always like that. I haven't even told him about you, Cara." He stands naked at the door. His body is pure heaven.

Part of me wants to burst my hard knee into his crotch, then run and escape. The other part wants me to let him hold me and have his way with me all God damn night long. No offense, God.

_Why did you create this perfect man?_

"Trey. I'm just too emotional and too unreliable for you, right now. I can't make myself happy let alone you." My words sound desperately clichéd. I swallow thickly, wanting him again.

He places his arms around me and lifts me to the bed. I feel like I'm being rescued by the most perfect fireman. He is my fantasy. Every last perfect piece of him. Including the naughty testosterone-fueled arguments, and the out of this world sexy BDSM ride he takes me on every time we come to this room.

"I want you, Cara." Fuck, his eyes wash over me as he undresses me again.

_I can't resist him._

"Trey. I know this feels so right, but..."

His lips press onto mine and his hands move desperately over my body. I'm addicted to him. My nipples pebble again and I let him ravage me.

"Oh, oooh."

I arch my back as he pulls my dress down. He lifts my back to unclasp my bra and he bites and kisses my body, sending me all the passion he has.

"Cara. I never want to be apart from you. I need you." His words whisper into my ear and I arch my back as he kisses down and onto my wet pussy.

"Oooh, aaah." I can't speak as his tongue flicks inside me licking my wetness so passionately.

He places his mouth over my sex and slowly licks and kisses me. His head bobs gloriously up and down as he places every seductive lick onto me. My hand touches his head and I want him to finger me.

"Oh, oh, mmmm," I let out as he circles my aroused clitoris with his tongue, flicking over it and teasing me.

He keeps himself there and then pushes his fingers inside, groaning while I moan. Just looking at his head down there makes me want to cum. It is so naughty and I feel free again under his mesmerizingly erotic spell.

His head moves up and he gets to his knees. His fingers move inside me firmly and he places his wet mouth onto my breast and sucks willingly on my nipple. I've got to arch my back as I feel the tingling of my orgasm. It takes me to a place where I only want to go with him.

"Fuck, Cara. You're more than perfect." His fingers get faster and slide inside, touching my walls and finishing me off.

It's like he knows exactly how to get to me. In every way. I truly love this man and I want to be seduced by his passionate desire for me. The whole world falls away. It's just me and Trey.

"Cara, I need to tell you something." He moves up to me and places my hair back out of my eyes.

"But I want to pleasure you first," I tell him plainly. I have to touch him. My hand moves onto his hard cock and he licks his lips.

"Alright." My hand pulls on his warm shaft and his head is engorged with a full arousal for me.

I place my mouth down and lick his balls, teasing him as he holds himself with his head placed back. He arches his back.

"Fuck, Cara." I love the look on his gorgeous, stubbled face right now.

I continue with my hand and I lubricate it using my saliva.

"Trey, I want you to pull my head how you want it. I like it when you're in control."

He brings his head back up and he looks at me with those unbelievably sexy eyes.

"God certainly looks after me." He pushes my head, pulling my head down over his cock. The force as he pushes makes my pussy clench and want him more.

"Fuck, you are the most wonderfully, sexy woman I've ever met." His voice comes out in a groan and then I hear him groan even more loudly as he pushes my mouth up and down his cock.

Pleasuring himself perfectly he pulls on my head, grabbing my hair as I keep my muscles loose allowing my complete submission to him, over his huge cock.

I feel the warm cum enter my mouth. It tastes like him and I swallow it down like a good girl.

"Good girl."

_I love those words._

I feel my body yearn for him to control me. I am in love with the dominance of this man. We can argue like brats until the cows come home, but in the bedroom, I am completely his. We are made for each other. The chemistry is sublime.

"I need to speak to you please, Cara." I sit and let him speak.

"Yes, Trey." I move my hand over his abdominal muscles. I am infatuated with him.

"Cara, I want you to know that I used to be a player. But only because I've been looking for the right one. I've found her in you." I know he loves me. His eyes are genuine. I feel my heart captured by him as the light shines on his glistening, sweaty body.

"I feel the same way about you. Except I have never been a player. I've never experienced anything like this before." I hug him tightly, placing my head on his chest.

"Cara, I want you to be my Slave for two weeks. I want to be your Master. It is not for everyone but I will make a good Master to you." I feel puzzled by his words and I don't really understand the meaning.

"I'm not sure I know what you mean." My eyes look into his and I am lost in the whole fantastical idea of his unexpected proposal.

"It's more than this. You would be completely submissive to all of my needs. You would need to serve me. Do everything I ask of you, even if you didn't want to. Then, I would reward you, sexually. You would be severely punished if you didn't adhere to my rules." I feel aroused by the idea and his breath hits my neck.

"Where would we do this arrangement?" I ask, curious about the whole thing.

"Here at the club. You would be mine, here." His words seem serious. I know absolutely nothing about all of this.

"Yes." I feel drawn to it. I want to be in his crazy world that fills me up so well.

"It will be hard on you. But it will make you stronger, placing your trust in me." I want it more than ever now. I swallow my pride and my body is on fire for this man.

"When do we start?" I ask wanting to please him.

"As soon as you get time off, then you can come here to me. You will be here with me for a solid two weeks." I bite my lip imagining serving him and being with him 24/7.

"I'll ring Annalise and get Becky to cover for me first thing tomorrow." He smiles and licks my lip, then he bites it.

"Mhm!" His body is holding mine in a passionate embrace. Soon I'll be his Slave.

***

I HAD NO TROUBLE TAKING THE TIME OFF. ANNALISE WELCOMED IT and Trey also got himself out of seeing the group with Dr. Bernard. We were starting something totally new. I was his first ever Slave. He'd dabbled in it a little before. But only as a sexual roleplay and not for this long.

I would be living upstairs with him. Above My Kinda Dirty. I brought myself in a taxi with a suitcase of clothes and my makeup and toiletries. This was going to be one hell of a ride.

I pay the driver and I walk back to the staff entrance. I follow my heart as it races up the stairs before my legs. It's all or nothing with Trey. We are chemically bound to each other and neither of us want it to end.

His office door is open and he is on the phone. He waves and gestures for me to sit down. I walk and leave my suitcase near the door. He wears tight jeans that lovingly hold his ass and a white cotton shirt that is unbuttoned at the top. I feel myself eyeing him and he looks at me with hungry, wanting eyes.

"Yes, I know Nancy. But if the shipment doesn't arrive by four I'm pulling the pin. Jack is out of control at the moment because he broke up with Samantha. Just ignore him." His words are firm and serious. He oozes alpha male and I am attracted again, more than ever.

"Yeah, sure. Just keep the shipments coming because we need to be on top of this. I'll speak with him. I'm sorry too. See ya, Nancy. Thanks."

He places the phone down and I see him smile at me. I'm all ready for our two-week thing. Or fantasy or whatever it's going to be.

"Go into my bedroom down the hall and change into the outfit provided. Then read my rules that are on the bed. Come back to me when you're done." His firm tone remains and I feel we've already started playing the game. _Oooh!_

I walk out and take my suitcase with me. I walk into the airy bedroom and feel the breeze push through the pale blue curtains. There is a small crepe dress in pale pink waiting for me and a note pinned to it with the words, "No lingerie must be worn under this dress."

I look at myself in the large mirror. I am totally in his new world now. I look at the envelope next to where the dress is set down.

"Rules," it says, seemingly showing control just by sitting there on the bed next to my Slave dress.

I open the seal on the envelope and begin to read each word inside...

"RULE 1 The Slave is under the Master's control at all times.

RULE 2 The Slave will be punished if she does not adhere to RULE 1.

RULE 3 The Slave is bound 24/7 by these rules for a period of time deemed by the Master and the Slave before the contract begins."

I hold my breath and I undress and place my naked body under the Slave dress. I look plain and simple and I like it. It suits me. Plain and simple is the perfect me. I tie my hair back and then plait it so I can serve him and look the part as well. I need to look the part. I am ready to do whatever he wants. I walk back in and he looks perfect.

"Cara, are you ready to begin?" His body stands like a headmaster and assumes a firm presence.

"Yes, I am." My heart races to think of what might happen next.

"When you enter a room, you will kneel before me subserviently. You will address me only as 'Master.' Your body is mine whenever I want it. You will not make a sound unless I speak to you, and then you will complete your sentence with the words, 'Yes Master.' Do you understand?" His eyes burn with desire under the solemn tone. He is totally believable.

"Yes, Master." I stand with my head slightly downcast and he walks to me.

His hand moves under my dress and a finger goes up and inside my pussy. I am wet from all of it. I feel so very naughty.

"Yes, you are a good girl. Wet for me, already." His eyes burn with desire. My breath quickens.

I place my mind into stillness as he brings his finger up and places it into my mouth allowing me to taste myself.

"Suck my finger like a good Slave." My nipples immediately pebble and I feel desperately aroused.

I do as I'm told and he puts it inside me again. This time deeper than before. My legs feel like they're going to buckle underneath me. I'm soaked and he knows it thrills me. He pushes in and out squatting underneath me grabbing onto my leg. His head goes under the flowy, light dress and he licks me, trying to get me to moan. I stand helpless and he fingers me while he sucks and bites my labia and clitoris. I'm coming undone.

"Ah, aah." I've let out a moan.

"You must stay quiet. This is your first and last warning, Slave girl."

I stand with my legs slightly apart as he hovers under me pleasuring my glistening pussy. I've never been this wet and he maintains a rhythm that is more than vigorous. I can only breathe. My hand moves to the desk as my body tenses up. He's going to finger me like this until I cum or moan. I don't want to moan or he'll stop.

_He mustn't stop._

His tongue weaves over my pussy and he opens his fingers inside so they slide on my walls. I can't believe it could even be possible to feel this erotically good.

He pulls his wet fingers out and looks at me with devilish eyes.

"Strip, Slave girl."

I do exactly as he says leaving my eyes downcast. I need him to fuck me. I am desperate to cum.

"Bend over and show me your sex." His voice is slightly cold and loud in a monotonous tone that makes my pussy clenching for him.

"I'm going to finger you until you cum, Slave girl." I feel more wetness come.

I remain still and he places three fingers inside me. His other hand holds my breast and he pulls wildly as his fingers stay rhythmically moving, delving desperately inside. All I can do is pant. I can't moan or speak but I can breathe and pant.

"You are being a good Slave Girl. My cock wants to fuck your pussy." His dirty words tease me more and I find myself cumming on his fingers at the sound of his naughty words.

I am breathless and his fingers come out and he replaces them with his hot cock. It's bigger than usual and he fucks me hard, holding my head down as he pushes inside me. I am in erotic Heaven and my pussy continues holding on to his enormous shaft that pushes inside, filling me up. His control sends me over the edge.

"I love fucking my Slave girl."

_"Sometimes you just have to take a chance."_

## 8

# Trey

_"She bends over the desk..."_

SHE BENDS OVER THE DESK AND I FUCK her, hard. I push into her exerting my force and control. I didn't think she would like it this much. But she is trying to pant and breathe so she doesn't moan. Her legs wobble underneath her. I've made her cum; relentlessly I had licked and fingered her just moments ago.

"I need you to cum on my cock, Slave girl."

Her body is hot and her hair is coming out of its plait. I'm holding her against the table and pulling her hair slightly.

_Fuck!_

I pull back getting my cock into the rhythm I know she likes. I can see her mouth open as it breathes heavily for me while I take her.

"Cum, I fucking need you to cum, Slave girl."

I feel her wet, soaked pussy clench as she has another orgasm. A quiet one, where just breathlessness overtakes her as I send her waves of unsavory pleasure.

I pull her head up and she is panting. I force her body around and lift her up onto the desk. I pull her breasts and lick her erect nipples. She is more than perfect as her mouth creates the perfect O as I enter my cock inside her again.

"Lay back." My words are firm and hoarse and she holds onto the table as I fuck her fast and hard. It is the most erotic sex I've ever had. I want her to moan as I push into her, now.

"Moan, Slave girl. My cock wants to hear your voice."

She lets out a cry of moans and I feel her pussy tighten again as I place my finger on her clitoris and see her cum.

"Oooh, aaaah, ooooh."

I feel myself nearly there and I lift her legs allowing me to fill her crevice deep inside. Each time I delve in she moans and I am sent over the edge, cumming inside her so easily, now as I groan. She is more beautiful than I could have ever imagined.

_She is the perfect Slave._

"You need to clean my cock, Slave girl." I wait for her face to crinkle up but she places on her dress and races to the bathroom for a towel. She gets back and kneels at the door.

"Yes, you may reenter," I say, proud that she has listened to my words before we had sex.

"Yes, Master."

She walks over to me and wipes my cock with the towel. Carefully and perfectly.

"No! lick it off," I say being more controlling than even I could bear.

"Yes, Master."

She does as she is told, licking over the head and sucking my cum off of it. She gets my cock to rise again so easily. I feel like I could do it all over again.

"And the shaft." My words boom over her and she looks up at me with her large and gorgeous eyes. I am seduced by them.

"Yes, Master."

She uses her tongue to lick the shaft. As if it is a long lollipop on a stick. I move my balls and I feel myself wanting to cum again.

"You are going to suck my cock until I cum in your mouth, Slave girl." I pull away and lay down on the floor.

"Yes, Master."

Her ass is pointing at me as she goes down on my cock. I lift her dress and touch her pussy, delving inside. I feel her breath change as she tries to suck my cock as I play. I feel like the luckiest man on the entire planet.

"Fuck, Slave girl. You are still so wet."

She tries to keep going, sucking the head and down my shaft, but the intensity of my finger in her pussy is just too much. I get off just looking at her lips being moved by my horny fingers.

I push her body down and enter her as she lays helplessly under me, and our fantasy has now come to life.

_God, it's too good._

"Moan, Slave girl."

She moans and breathes as I take her again. It is more intense than before and I pull on her hair, arousing her.

"Mmmm, good girl."

Her pussy clenches on my cock and then I let myself go cumming again. She is the most perfect woman I've ever known. The first one I've ever fucked inside my office. I hadn't planned on it, but she was just too tempting in that perfect little slave dress. She cleans me up again and I send her away to her room. I'll have much more in store for her later on.

***

I REMEMBER THE FIRST TIME I MET HER AT DR. BERNARD'S. SHE WAS so fucking looking for me. She just didn't know it yet...

_She's totally fucking hot. I mean I signed up for this bullshit Reach Out program against my will, but she's totally smoking fucking hot!_

_" Why are you here sweetheart?" I say, grinning at her while she fiddles with her collar that sits snuggly under her woolen vest._

_" Um, Trey. I really don't think it's any of your business why I am here, do you?" It's totally hot the way she answers my question with a question. The Doc is going to analyze the shit out of this one, I know it._

_" Yes, I do think I should know why you're here. I know why everyone else is here. I know you are nervous because you keep pulling on your collar. Do I make you nervous, Cara?" I touch her collar and her hand flicks me away. She is desperate to be touched._

_" Um, Mr. Bernard, I mean Doctor Bernard. Are you going to let this man take over your group, like this?" she asks looking breathless as I look into her pale, blue eyes that seem a little lost._

_" Cara. This group is for you. It's really good that you and Trey are speaking to each other. You might be buddied up with him for a while. He needs a partner," says the doctor. His pen swivels in his hand and bobs up and down to write about us and the interesting conversation we have, now._

_" Yeah, Cara, we can be partners. I like talking to sexy, hot women," I say winking, doing my best to make her feel uncomfortable in an overly flirtatious way._

_She turns her head and folds her arms, obviously not expecting my playful words to tease her so that she feels something for me. Probably annoyance or anger, but any feeling is good right now. The doctor will be impressed that I've hit a nerve in her. I want to be remembered by her, so I continue to tease..._

It was less than two weeks ago, my memory of meeting her. I mean I felt hot for her but I never expected it to be this damn exciting. I lick my lips. I'm in total control of her. She is mine for an entire, erotic fortnight.

I walk into her room. She is reading and sprawled on the bed.

"Bring me a pot of tea. I will allow you to share it with me because you have served me well on your first afternoon." She kneels in front of me perfectly.

"Yes, Master."

She bites her lip and passes me and I grab her wrist.

"You like it rough, Slave girl?" My question is firm toned. She catches her breath.

"Yes, Master. Very much." I let her go and wait for her in my office. _Fuck it's good!_

She places the tea on the office table and kneels down in front of me.

"Thank you, you may rise and sit by me." My eyes press into her face. I love her and she needs to trust me completely.

"Yes, Master, thank you." She sits next to me on the small couch. She pours us both a cup and I look at her in love.

"Tell me, Cara, do you love me?" I sip my strong, hot tea.

"Yes, Master." Her eyes are genuine and her lips are perfect. Full and teasing me.

"So, then, you must, therefore, trust me with all of your whole heart." I hold her hand gripping it firmly.

"Yes, I do. Yes, Master." She looks so beautiful right now.

"I want you to hold me tightly and tell me what those men did to you." Her eyes shift and widen.

"Now, Cara. I need you to have faith that I am here." She squeezes my hand and looks at me with a fading smile.

"I was closing the bank. I had worked there for about two and a half years. The manager was going home early to get ready for a dinner party. She trusted me as the assistant manager to lock up for her. It was still light outside."

"You're doing well, go on. Good girl, Cara." She moves closer.

"They just burst in and shot at the floor. There was a hole in it the size of a basketball. The first man yelled, 'get on all fours.' I did as I was told and they scrounged around grabbing money from the open safe that I had still been using." I feel her breath change. "The two men gang raped me while I was held at gunpoint. They didn't hold me and they weren't rough, but I had a gun pointed at me the whole time."

I let her continue. She is doing so well.

"I just closed my eyes as they did it and I put my mind somewhere else. The other two men bashed me and that is why my nightmares were so bad. I was bashed so that I was unrecognizable. It was terrifying and I nearly... I believed that I was going to die. These men were so brutal that they had raped many women already and killed some as well. In other states. Thankfully, the security guard outside came to check on me and they ran out the back door. They caught them all."

My heart breaks as I listen to her. She had been so trusting of me in the playroom. She had let me rule her as a Master as well, willingly allowing it. Even after her terrifying ordeal.

"So, what I do. It doesn't affect you? Apart from when I said that significant line?"

She hugs me tightly with a tear in her eye. "No, Trey, you have saved me. I thought I could never be with another man again. I crave being with you, all the time." Her words sound so beautiful and loving.

"How many years did those bastards get for this crime?" I want to kill them myself for what they fucking did.

"All of them got life without parole for all of their brutal crimes. Except for the last man who hung himself in jail last year." Her voice seems unwavering. She's finally let it all out.

"Cara, I want to be your Master full time. I am so proud of you right now." Her eyes look deeply into mine.

"Uhuh, I want that too Trey Donahue. I love you so much."

She falls asleep in my arms and I sit thinking about our perfect first time...

_I open the door and she allows her eyes to move over the red interior of the room. A firm, rubber bed sits easily in the center and there is a sex swing, plus a moveable rack sitting just under the main pressed aluminum ceiling. Her eyes are wide as she steps into what I call, "Fantasy Land."_

_" So, this is where you do your thing? Your domination of women." Her tone is soft and warmer than it had been when we first met just an hour or so ago. Her hand is nervously touching her collar and it drives me wild._

_" Uhuh." I close the door and it latches behind me. She jumps and I find her easily placed in my arms, wanting to kiss me._

_I trail my kisses and place them on the side of her neck from behind her body. She breathes heavily for me and I begin to undress her. The vest pulls off easily and then I unbutton her cool, white blouse which sits perfectly over her perky breasts and I grab her waist in lust for her._

_" Trey, I'm not... I mean I don't know how this works. Will you keep that in mind?" Her words come out in a moan of breathlessness. I will make sure she's fine with it._

_My dick presses on her from behind as I unzip her jeans in passion. She is so fucking beautiful that I feel completely and unusually sentimental about her. It feels like it's her first time. Fuck, yeah._

_" Lay on the bed for me and I'll show you what I do, alright?" I say, wishing my dick could go inside her and take her right now._

_" Alright, Trey. But I don't normally do this..."_

_" Ssshh, you'll just have to trust me. I'm in control now." She quiets down without making another sound. I feel her warm breath touching onto the skin around my neck._

_" I'm going to blindfold you, so you can feel my touch. Then I'm going to tether you to the head of the bed."_

_" But..."_

_" Ssshh, this is all about trust. You must trust me. I will not do anything to hurt you."_

_Her breath quickens as I raise her gorgeous arms up, getting ready to tie them. I tether each of her wrists to the top of the bed. I don't pull too tightly, this time. But she's definitely staying there, for now, that's for sure. I place my tongue on her neck and I lick her milky skin. Her hair is out of the way and sprawling recklessly over the bed._

_" Fuck, you are so beautiful, Cara."_

_I lick and bite down to her left breast. I circle her nipple with my finger and it pebbles as she moans out a lustful breath of pleasure._

_" Aah," she says. I watch her head move to the side as she writhes her body in anticipation of what I might do to her next._

_" Good girl." I undo my jeans and let them go off my legs and onto the red, cool marbled floor. My boxers come off and my cock is set free and is still under her magical, erotic spell._

I am in love. She's... My Kinda Dirty.

_"She bends over the desk..."_

# About the Author

Bella Knight writes what she loves--romance, Bad Boy Bikers to Hot Rockstars to sexy Sports Romances. She feels the love from her Las Vegas home from her rescue animals and her various love interests. She is constantly reading and writing, and she also leaves the animals with friends from time to time and hops on planes. She enjoys life to the fullest.

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