Tillie
“Obedience is a funny thing. You don’t catch on the first time right away, but I can guarantee that the second time around it will click as I teach you, beating it into your skin.” His back is turned to me, the gypsy symbol patch of a Joker expanding on his MC cut, mocking me from my kneeling position on the cold, concrete flooring.
It doesn’t matter how many hours my knees are in this position, time becomes an endless loop of agonizing pain, until it eventually numbs me inside and out like a shot of morphine. They say if you keep doing the same thing every single day, your body gets used to that routine in a matter of time. I’m at the point where my body is used to the feeling of being tormented. He always seems to know when I shut down everything around me, as I try to find my happy place, no matter how small. It must be the emotionless glint in my eyes, a faraway look that says nothing you can do really hurts me anymore. That’s a lie though, a filthy lie that I keep speaking, screaming out just to prove I’m not weak. He comes up with new ways to torture me, to make the suffering last just before my breaking point. My body can’t take much more, the burning inside of each cut is like salt rubbing into the wounds he inflicts upon me.
I must have spaced out because the next thing I know my head whips to the side with a searing pain across my right cheek, throbbing with my pulse. His dirty hand that reeks of cigarettes and engine grease grips the underside of my jaw tightly, bruising the skin there. A reminder he can do anything he wants and get away with it. He doesn’t care if my face is bloody so long as I’m staring right into his soulless eyes.
A cough slips past my lips as he tightens his hold. Don’t ask me why I needed to cough, I think it’s just a way to suck in a new breath, oxygen I was denied from that brief second his hand connected with my face. This is why I can’t get lost in my head, he senses it like a shark in the water and wants my full attention on him. The sick bastard gets off on my agony, it feeds him… his panting breath fanning my face in his excitement. Whiskey, cigarettes, and under all that is the stench of death. The smell alone has bile rising from my stomach to my throat. A man can only go so far in life without having the grim reaper attach to his wicked soul, knowing he’s owned after doing countless deeds for the devil.
“Tillie, Tillie, you never learn.” He pauses, his cracked lips stretched into a smile, and I’m sucking in a breath to avoid the vomit that so badly wants to pass my lips. “I’m going to give you one chance and if you can leave a mark on me, I’ll let you run, girl until you're far, far away from here.” I watch his lips form the words and it sounds so distant, I can hear every little sound around me but him.
He releases my jaw with a rough shove like he’s disgusted with me. My breath stills in my chest with a whimper trying to escape as what he says registers in my head. My one eye that isn’t swollen shut stares him down warily, afraid to believe anything that comes out of his mouth. Everything is always a test, a way to weaken me more with false hope. Escape is out of my reach, a tease that makes my throat dry and kills me slowly inside like a deadly cancer.
Hope.
Freedom.
All an unforgiving lie. Lies that burn off his tongue, slithering towards me until it bites into my skin and is worse than the torment he gives.
“That’s right, swing at me with your frail, weak arms.” He taps his chin three times in quick succession with his filthy finger. “Come on, with your best shot. Right here.” His brown eyes, which are so familiar to my own if I were to stare into a mirror, harden into a glint I know so well.
Sometimes it’s like looking into a bottomless pit and realizing there isn’t a way out, staring right into the eyes of Satan.
My arms are weak, covered in scrapes and bruises, feeling like cement is holding me down. Do this, hit him with everything I’ve got, or suffer more punishment. My eyes squeeze tight, picking door number one because it’s my best bet and I don’t see another way out of this. When I was little, Uncle Rig would have tried his best to keep me away from his MC President because he noticed the evil his brother possessed. Payne took over for Grandfather when he passed away, the man is known for his cruelty and insanity. Unfortunately, he is also my Dad. Uncle Rig, Vice President of the club, first right hand man to Payne, did everything he could to shield me from club business and the cruel world. That bubble popped suddenly, one day the sun was shining bright and the next I found out Uncle Rig was just gone. Disappeared without a goodbye and that was the day my heart knew I’d never seen him again. Two weeks after his disappearance was when my obedience lessons started with dear old Dad. That first lesson was three years ago.
The squeak of his leather cut jolts me out of my memories, making my eyes pop open wide, only to see darkness surrounding me as usual. I watch as Payne sits on his heeled biker boots, his chin jutting out, and pointing his index finger clad with rings towards his jaw for me to make a move. He’s patiently waiting for my weak hit that I know without a doubt won’t leave a mark. But I have to try.
Without thinking about it too much, I pull my arm back and take a driving swing that connects with his skin so hard that I know it hurts me more than it hurts him. Not even a flinch mirrors his face, but sweet satisfaction gleams in his cruel eyes at my display of weakness.
“Oh child, how I wish you were a boy instead of a pathetic cunt, and I’m betting you’re wishing the same thing just about now. Don’t you know men rule this big, bad world? Strength comes from a man, not a woman.” He laughs in my face, spittle spraying everywhere and making me cringe away in disgust.
Jokers are death, the devil's right hand in his dirty work, and makes God a laughing stock as they mock him with each deed the club delivers. All who know the Jokers MC on the outskirts of Las Vegas fear them, but not as much as I do.
“Please, I’ll do b-better! I promise!” My voice echoes in a cry of desperation.
I gasp on a tearful watery breath at the sound as it bounces off the cement walls that are stained in old splattered blood spots and other things I’d rather not think about. He slowly shakes his head in disappointment before straightening to his full height and walking over to the steel door that leads up the stairs into the club’s bar area. My heart pounds in sync with his footsteps. He pauses at the door frame and looks over his shoulder at me with dark delight, which can only mean something is going to happen. Something that I’m not going to like.
“That’s another funny thing, promises mean nothing unless you can prove it and I’ve only seen failure from you. You're going to find out what it means to be a woman in this world and spread your legs without a single word coming out of your whore mouth. You should have been opening your legs to many men for a long time now but I’ve been a good Father, no? Sixteen is the perfect age to lose one's innocence, don’t you think?” He opens the heavy steel door with ease, his chuckle slowly eating away at me as the blood drains from my face when a group of the Joker’s members fill the open space one by one.
The air has a smell that terrifies me. It reeks of disgusting lust that is aimed at my body and each Joker’s facial expression tells me what’s going to happen, no matter how loud I scream for help, it will be pointless in the long run. No one cares, no one will come, and I’m all alone.
Motorcycle boots shuffle over the cement basement floor and the sound of zippers lowering is like a gunshot going off in the silence. Sick, twisted eyes stare down at my crouched position as I hunch my shoulders in an attempt to appear smaller. It doesn’t work for men like them, they have the same look of the Devil shining in their greedy, lustful gazes. The same look Payne has each time he sees me. It doesn’t matter that I grew up around these men, some perched me on their knees and taught me my ABC’s. It all comes down to this and any hope I was holding onto fades away as Cruz, the one guy I thought I meant something to, is the last to walk into the room.
“Do this, boy, and you're in. Training for the future President starts with this. You’ll receive your patch afterward.” Payne pats him on the shoulder, whistling as he climbs the stairs without looking back.
Cruz slams the door behind him with a carefree smile and his empty eyes take in the room, seeing me crouched on the floor like a wounded animal without a flicker of worry. Gone is the guy who showed any level of kindness to a young girl's heart. He may be a few years older than me but he played me for a fool as he charmed me into believing that love exists. The joke is on me. No love is shining in his eyes now. Instead, it’s a dark and depraved gaze of a man with no emotions and abnormal thoughts. He’s dead but oddly still breathing.
“Who’s up first boys? I’ve been dying to claim this cunt for a while, she seems to think it’s made of gold, such a tease and so very innocent… just the way I like them. So fellas, step in line because it’s going to be a long wait!” Cruz says with a loud chuckle.
Ten Jokers circle around me, gazing down at my shivering body and palming their hard dicks.
Poe taught me how to hold a shotgun at the age of five behind the junkyard the club owns.
Zagan’s been beating the boys away from the doorstep since my body started blooming.
Nix, just last week was showing me how to tune up an old mustang in the garage.
Whiskey joked around and showed me how to slow dance in a room full of bikers when I used to roam the club at night because I couldn’t sleep with the loud music playing.
