Biker’s Collar: Property of Scrap (Rebel Barbarians MC #6)

Chapter 1 – Vickie

One

Vickie

Las Vegas - 5 Years Ago

T his is my last night in Vegas. Hakeem’s stupid ass doesn’t know it and neither do either of the bouncers – Tiberius and Roderic. I haven’t been here long, but I saw what happened to the women who tried to get out by kicking and screaming, fussing and fighting. It didn’t work. The minute I realized that I was fucked and that my so-called “boyfriend” Hakeem reported to a much bigger fish, I knew I had to keep my head on straight.

Hakeem’s handler, Giant Jim, has everything – my name, my birth certificate, my social security card, my state ID, and an expired passport. They also have blackmail, slowly gathered by running a slow comb through my online digital footprint. But I don’t give a fuck about that.

Within the first three weeks in Vegas I figured it out. There was never any job waiting for me. Hakeem never had any intention of giving back my identification, and the longer I stay out here, the higher my chance of going missing permanently .

Word spread amongst the girls that no one who comes off that Greyhound from Missouri lasts more than six months.

And I’ve been here for almost three years. No cell phone. Constantly watched. No way to contact the outside world. The only time I have anything resembling privacy is when I’m lying in bed. The girls here don’t get to talk to each other much and most of us are too scared or too smart to talk. I categorize myself in the “too smart” category, but only because my favorite cousin growing up spent three years in federal prison.

Jelani was never the same when he got out. But he gave damn good advice along with the inappropriate life skills he taught the family kids while babysitting me and my cousins. In situations like this, the less you say the better. Most people assume quiet folks are dumb, especially when the quiet woman is plus-sized and black. That’s what worries me most about this situation, aside from the fact they’ll have no use for me and my six month timeline is about to run out.

Hakeem pushes open the door to my changing room without asking if I’m ready.

“They need you at the poker tables.”

“The game doesn’t start until nine.”

Hakeem loves a damn power trip. But I shouldn’t get too full of myself before I’m out of here. I need to focus on what matters the most tonight. Finding a target.

“Right, but these are white folks. They expect us to start on time.”

“They should have gone to a white club if they expected shit to start on time.”

I pretend to give a shit about my braid placement in the mirror, adjusting my half-up/half-down hairstyle so some braids dangle in the front, hoping Hakeem will leave the room and let me leave when I’m good and ready. They have bouncers around the tables and I need to check the dealers. I can’t do my job with his stupid ass hovering over me – and mostly because he stinks like raw onions and pisses me the hell off. I’m more afraid of Giant Jim than I ever was of Hakeem.

He can tell that he doesn’t scare me and he hates it. Hakeem’s dark brown eyes narrow and it almost hurts me knowing that I won’t be able to exact revenge on this asshole. Part of me wishes that in the future, when I’m back in Missouri, I could drop his location to Jelani… But I can’t stand the thought of my cousin back in jail again. Even if Hakeem deserves it.

Sensing his powerlessness to get me moving any faster, Hakeem just hassles me more before leaving the changing room. “Hurry the hell up, Vickie.”

“I’m on my way. I have to look good for this shit, don’t I?”

They don’t care if I look good. The truth is, I’m the only one of the girls Hakeem has brought here in months with the smarts to balance the ledger at the end of the night. Seriously. I’m here because I can count. But unfortunately, brains aren’t the main currency in Vegas. And I’m not willing to do anything else, despite Hakeem’s hints.

Once he slams the door, I move three braids aside for the pills I got from one of Hakeem’s new “hires” – none of us are getting paid. Yasmeen has a little problem unfortunately, but that problem leads to her running her mouth about the effects of all these party drugs. This one is a “perc 30”, according to Yasmeen. She says a first timer could absolutely fall asleep from one of these. So I bought two. Don’t ask where I got the money, or how I got it and made the books balance out at the end of the night.

It’s a good thing I’m the only one who is good at accounting.

The pills move from their hidden spot between my braids to the pouch I wear on my side to keep a small tube of pepper spray and my counter to keep track of the patrons entering our back room. Giant Jim runs eight tables a night and most of his patrons look like movie super villains. You can feel something wrong with these motherfuckers from the way they look at you. Some have tattoos you only see in prison – more information from Jelani that I didn’t know would come in handy.

It shouldn’t have come in handy. I just couldn’t stay away from the thugs. I should have gone to college. I should have done something more with my life. But I thought I was in love and I thought that a guy like Hakeem would hold it down.

I believed his lies. I believed that I was the only woman despite the comments under his pictures, the fact that a grown ass man had a SnapChat account at all. I thought getting to Vegas would give us a chance to have fun, excitement and of course romance. That idea died swiftly. Over the years since I’ve been here, I’ve had time to think about the shit that happened that brought me here. My desperation to escape and beyond that… my desperation for love.

It scares me how badly I wanted it. I know I was young, but I still should have known better. I knew who Hakeem was and I should have been more suspicious.

Back then, I was basically boy-crazy. Out of my goddamn mind yearning for someone. Las Vegas killed that part of me. Surviving here requires staying numb, never dreaming, just focusing on survival. But if I ever dare to dream in those moments before I drive off to sleep… I don’t dream of slot machines or winning big or anything like that.

I just want to buy three chickens, a pygmy goat and an acre of land by a river in Missouri.

I don’t know anything about farming but… something about the countryside or the idea of it just makes me feel free.

Hakeem might not scare me the way Jim does, but he annoys the hell out of me and if I make him wait too long, he’ll send someone scarier to rush me out of my changing room. I tap my ear piece to communicate with the host at the front.

“I’ll be out in five minutes. I’m going to meet the dealers.”

No response is a good response.

I leave my changing room and knock on the door to the dealers’ room. The girls fall silent. I say girls and I mean it. I’m the oldest one here – twenty-one – and the youngest girl I’ve met who keeps lying and saying she’s eighteen is actually fifteen. She’s just scared to death of Hakeem. Like most of them. Like everyone except me.

“It’s Vickie.”

Chatter resumes on the other side of the door as I open it up and my stomach tightens in a knot at the uncomfortable scene. I hate being a part of this. The underage girls are all dressed in tight, revealing white costumes. They all balance their skinny asses on sky-high clear heels. I feel like their mother, even if I’m only a few years older than them.

I wish I could take them all with me. But I can’t. I worked on this plan for weeks and the only way it works is if I keep it to myself and just… run.

“Y’all ready tonight? We have eight tables with a two hundred thousand dollar buy in for each one. These are high-rollers and it’s our job to make them happy tonight. Understood?”

False enthusiasm rumbles through the room. We have to convince ourselves that some part of our lives is fun.

“You know how it is. Drink as much as you want as long as you don’t compromise your faculties, and if there’s a client who wants a little extra… you come through me first.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Ma’am. These girls are all so young and southern that it hurts to send them out there. But it’s my job to run the room, watch the dealers, and keep this shit running for Hakeem. Most of the girls in this room still think I’m his girlfriend, but Hakeem hasn’t been back to the apartment we share in Vegas for weeks. Not like he doesn’t have people watching almost every move I make, but he doesn’t sleep there.

I don’t know where he sleeps although I occasionally catch wind of who he sleeps with. When I get the fuck out of here and back to civilization, my next move will be peeing in a damn cup. I can’t believe I ever trusted this man. I can’t believe I won’t even get revenge for what he did to me.

I follow the girls out into the club room and look around at the gambling addicts leaning over the poker tables. I scan the tables and notice a few regulars. There is a clique of Russian oligarchs banned from most of the popular Las Vegas casinos. The four of them are spread across four separate tables. Seven bikers from a local club occupy a few seats.

Blood Riders has several members who show up at this place with money to gamble, but they also deal drugs in Jim’s downtown nightclub. There’s a kid at one of the poker tables, which I don’t agree with, but apparently he’s the nephew of some big shot celebrity, so we turn a blind eye to a seventeen year old drinking and gambling with Russian oligarchs who may be responsible for slaughtering entire villages.

The girls draw straws for their table tonight and I begin my nightly surveillance of the room. I’m more of a show piece than anything, since Jim has cameras pointed at every angle of this room. He’s paranoid. Which is why I need to find a mark. Quickly. All these months I’ve been good. Never lied. Never cheated. Never threw a tantrum. I used my smarts and that’s why I’ll get out.

I walk around all the tables until I come to the last one in the corner. I feel strange as I draw closer to it, like the men at this particular table are worse than the others. There’s a heavy smell coming from the cigars they have poked into their mouths and when I get close enough to make out their facial features, I recognize most of the men at the table as regulars.

One player stands out as not just new tonight, but different from all the rest.