Harlot!(1)

Episode 1

It’s good to be queen.

That’s what I tell myself, whenever bitches flirt with my husband. When their greedy eyes appreciate all his tattooed awesomeness a little too much. Gouging their eyes out isn't practical, but it sure would be fun. But I know in my jealous heart that eventually Jude will grow tired of bribing cops to make the assault charges disappear. It's even worse when bail money is involved…like now.

The way my world changed so drastically and with the force of a tsunami is, let’s just say…a lot. I’m handling it in my own way. The only difference between the pre-Freakshow Addison and Adz the queen of the Devils MC I am now is that I can indulge those tendencies towards violence that I mostly repressed my entire life.

Freakshow flipped a switch inside me when he claimed me as his. I no longer have to be the perfect little ballerina, high society daughter who says and does all the right things in public. I hated every second of my former life. Now I cower to no one, there’s a pack of lascivious and brutal Devils waiting to defend my supposed honor. And the man who leads them is too indulgent with me, but I’ll never tell him that while I reap the rewards. I’d be lying if I said I’d never had the first clue I was this bitch, but like anything worth having, you have to fight for it. My evolution terrifies my best friend Lu, I see it in her judgmental perfectly groomed eyebrows. But the only thing she needs to be truly afraid of is getting on my bad side.

Besties have each other’s back no matter what. That’s why she’s rotting with me in this Clark County holding cell. We’d rather be rotting on her couch with wine, junk food, and an old movie (since my husband won’t let her on his property for some reason I still haven’t ascertained yet) than smelling the unsanitary conditions they house alleged criminals in.

“How long did Show say it would be before he posted bail?” she asks, while checking her now chipped nails with disdain. Being caged isn’t an unfamiliar feeling for me, that was my entire childhood growing up until I ran away. I fight the urge to pace the small space that offers nothing but cement and a few colorful messages on the gray walls. I’ve read them several times, they’re committed to memory now and the thrill is gone.

“I called Harvey. You know my husband hates the cops.”

“What?! Oh, he’s going to embody his name and freak the fuck out when he finds out you didn’t call him to come save you. I’m not spending the weekend in this damn cell!” Her anger is somewhat justified, but I didn’t force her to aid and abet my criminal deed…really. There was begging on both our parts, she just begged for us to leave, that’s the only difference. She doesn’t understand there are some things that I can’t let pass. No one respects a queen who doesn’t stand up for herself. I don’t need Jude every time someone insults me. The stage director’s assistant told me my ass jiggles so much I’ll have a hard time finding a new show since nobody wants a fat showgirl. She hates me, it’s always in her eyes. I didn’t kill her and her nose will heal, but her car is another story.

Would he even be enamored with me if I was some weak bitch who came crying to him every time someone judged me or hurt the tender feelings I mostly don’t have? It happens often, crazy enough most people don’t care for bikers, especially ones wearing reaper cuts proclaiming they own Vegas. In some ways he does, in most ways he does, but that doesn’t eliminate hate, quite the opposite actually.

“I don’t need saving, just cash and Harvey has plenty of that thanks to being on my husband’s payroll. Besides, he owes me this and a lot fucking more after all I put up with from him. He’ll obey his queen’s orders or I’ll string him up on the cross again.”

Lu’s eyes widen in surprise. “What the hell are you even talking about?”

My memories of his cries are so sweet even now, faded as they are. “You had to be there.” I shrug.

“I’m not allowed there because your man has a vendetta against me. I mean, why are we even still trying to spend time together?”

“Don’t say that shit to me. No man can break us up unless we let them. You’re my best friend, Lu. Are you going to ditch me now when I need you the most?” It’s true, just because something is difficult doesn’t mean you wash your hands of it.

“You are becoming as manipulative as your psycho husband.”

I stare at her, disbelieving that she said that to me. I imagine she thinks it often. But knowing I’m right about that doesn’t make me feel good. “Who’s gaslighting who here precisely? You know who I married. I still don’t know why he hates you. Both of you have a secret you won’t share with me. Do I give you shit for it? Either of you?!” I love her, but she’s starting to piss me off. Maybe we aren’t such a good match personality wise after all. She remains tight-lipped, nose upturned, the look on her pretty face like someone farted.

“Tell me why Show hates you.” It’s the last time I will demand an answer I feel entitled to. Lu should have already fessed up and I’ll never buy that she doesn’t know the reason why. If someone hates you as much as Show hates her, you know why. She looks away, anywhere in the cell except at me, her lips never opening, no words of explanation coming out. “Fine. This will never happen again.” I don’t need a best friend. I can make a new one or just raw dog the emotional turmoil that my life is becoming.

Footsteps sound down the hall nearing our cell. Fucking finally! “Walker, your bail is posted.” The officer advises as he unlocks the cell.

“What about Lu?”

“Only one bail is posted, yours. Guess it’s not her lucky day,” he says.

“I’ll get you out.” I promise as I look at her through the bars. She won’t look at me, but she raises her hand to… dismiss me? What the actual fuck?

I follow the officer, retracing the steps that led me here. I’m given back my personal belongings, my purse and stiletto boots which are deemed a weapon even for a temporary hold like mine. My feet slip into them like a second skin, they stop just below the knee. The leather is the softest, most supple I’ve ever felt but they are murder on toes after awhile. The last zipper pulls up on them, I fight the urge to sprint out the exit door.

“You were great in that cirque show by the way.” He smiles at me as he opens the door like a gentleman which shocks me a bit.

“Thanks.” Too bad it’s over. And my prospects are only slightly better moving forward with casting calls and auditions now that I have one major show under my belt. It rankles my pride that Show had gotten me that first gig. I know he did it because he was trying to prove he cared about me. I was so excited to be part of a big production that it mattered less how I got it then, than it does now. Will any other director look at me and see a star?

Oh shit! There’s my ex Harvey in his dapper suit and with him looking every shade of pissed off is Jude ‘Freakshow’ Walker. He’s wearing his leather cut, jeans, shit kickers and a pissed off expression. So hot. He’s the kind of beautiful perfection that forces you to believe in any god. His hair is longer and sunbleached on the ends, a wild mess because he rode his bike. Both machines have given me countless orgasms and I’m still hungry with anticipation for the next one from either.

The odds probably aren’t in my favor.

I march up to my ex and slap his smug face. “You two-faced asshole!”

“I bailed you out Addy, don’t be like that.” He fights back laughter. I know he enjoys the slap, the masochistic, small dick bastard. It’s almost enough to make me regret it.

Almost.

Jude’s arm locks me in a vise as he lifts me off my booted feet and places me next to his ride. “Calm the fuck down,” he hisses in my ear, “we’re in front of a building full of pigs watching you assault a man who bailed you out.”

“It’s not assault if he likes it!” I fight his too-strong tattooed arms, not allowing me to move yet. He’s right not to trust me. But the worst is over, Show knows now and I’ll deal with it. It was a pipe dream that I could keep him from finding out.

He crushes me back into his hard, very warm body. His inked hands adorned with our black wedding band and his reaper rings slide down to my stomach. “Get on my bike. Don’t say another word from those pretty lips. I’m on the edge of losing control and I don’t want to say or do something I can’t take back. Do you understand? Nod if you get me, babydoll.” His voice is an angry hot rush across my neck, causing goosebumps to spread down my back.

My chin touches my chest the one time in the only nod of confirmation he’ll get from me as I swing a leg over his behemoth bike. I grab the seat under me and fight the urge to ask him why Lu is his mortal enemy.

I turn to Harvey. Not forgetting my promise not to say anything, but he’s leaving. “Get Lu out of there! Don’t fuck with me on this, Harvey!”

Jude’s harsh yet beautiful blue eyes pin me in place. “Please get her out.” I stick my lower lip out and let my tongue touch it slightly. He breathes harshly as he watches my mouth. Being above sexual manipulation is a tactic for women not in my position, besides it always works like a charm.

“Get her out now!” He yells at Harvey, then mounts the bike and starts it up. It’s worth it to see that motherfucking pussy pout the entire way back into the jail. He didn’t post bail for her on purpose because over my single phone call I’m pretty sure I told him Lu too.

I lean back holding onto the seat as Show navigates the parking lot, stopping at the street. The tension in my husband is visible, a feeling in the air that orbits around him. He’s the king, he made me his queen, but I won’t delude myself into believing I will always be the queen. His Devils have a harem of ladies who aren’t very ladylike waiting to service them anytime in any manner they want. Day and night they have willing pussy on tap. Show tried to explain that his brothers don’t have to worry about diseases and unwanted pregnancies, but it’s an ego thing. Plus they like to watch each other get blown and make the girls squeal and moan. I can’t judge that, I’m a voyeur too. If it wasn’t vastly popular then there wouldn’t be porn. The Devils have live porn shows at the drop of a hat. It’s impossible not to be horny ninety-nine percent of the time, even if I only want Jude. Watching isn’t cheating, he explained to me.

It’s a personality flaw of mine to push people’s buttons, it’s a product of how I was raised. How much will my daddy take? When will my husband grow tired of my antics? Will anyone ever accept me, flaws and all? I've bottled up too much for too long, becoming a grenade waiting for someone to pop the pin. And part of me? Part of me is excited to think tonight might be that night. That part of me terrifies the rational side of my brain as dormant as it has become. Freakshow indulges my crazy and making any shit make sense has dropped low on my daily priorities list. Not when I covet him so damn much, not when I discover I want something else as much or more than I want him.

I want to be a star. Not just a showgirl, no that will never do. I want to be The Showgirl. The one who sets the bar so damn high no one will ever reach it again in my lifetime.

Is that too much to ask?

I should be worried about…

Show grabs my arms and pulls them around his much larger body before he merges with the traffic and begins weaving between the cars and trucks that block our route. Rush hour on a Friday is no joke. My hands slip beneath his cut and then even deeper under his shirt so we are skin against skin. I feel the ridges of his abdomen flex to my touch and he tenses more, but says nothing, not that I could hear him. I’m too much in my head space, imagining what he’ll do to me. Fuck some sense into me is at the top of my punishment list, and he’s never cut me off…yet. But there’s a first time for everything.

He makes a few turns and I realize we aren’t going back to the desert. We move in the opposite direction, but a few more miles and I notice the familiar surroundings of my old digs. A cold wave shocks me when I realize he’s taking me home. To the condo I lived in before we met, before he stole me from my life and put me in his.

So this is it. He's done, and if he is, then so am I. I shut it all down, whether from shock or soul-crushing sorrow. No more fear. No more anticipation. No more tender, dumb lovey-dovey feelings for such a hard man. I pull my hands free as he navigates my old ritzy subdivision and grab the seat beneath me. He turns his head, giving me a scathing side eye.

The jig is up, I know what he plans to do with me and I won’t give him the satisfaction of one goddamn tear! I school my features into a mask of no fucks given. I feel hollowed out like there’s nothing inside me at all. He’s getting rid of me and I should be grateful we aren’t heading way out into the desert. There are unmarked graves filled by men in reaper cuts scattered out there. I will just be another one and I know the ultimate price of being with a man like Show. I just love him more than I care about dying a premature death. That will hurt less than forcing myself to feel nothing at all so the hurt won’t kill me.

As soon as he pulls into the garage I jump off his damn bike and rush inside my condo. I lock the door and sprint through my kitchen. Someone has cleaned it up? It’s more spotless than I ever kept it.

Show’s scream echoes once before the sound of his large body slamming into the door, the wood splintering and heavy booted footsteps follows. I’m already halfway up the stairs when I see him moving like a mack truck through my condo. It almost reminds me of the first time he was here. I was afraid of him then, but now I’m predominantly afraid of me. Of what I will do to stop whatever he has planned for me if it isn’t sex. I won’t become another nameless grave in the desert out past their clubhouse. If he isn’t just dropping me off, he must need privacy for whatever he plans to do to me.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He yells at my backside as I reach the landing at the top of the stairs. These damn boots! No time to take them off. My precarious footwear sprints down the hallway to my bedroom and I slam the door. There are no locks because of Harvey. Such an asshole.

I begin to shove my antique armoire to block the door, but it’s so damn heavy. The door swings open slamming into the wall, the doorknob busting a hole in the drywall. Show is a huge brooding leather and denim-clad sex god taking up the entire exit.

I’m just fooling myself that there ever was an exit with him. Maybe one way, the permanent kind you never wake up from…