Free FOUND: A Motorcycle Club Romance Novel by Scarlet Korin Page A

to be trusted. I tell you. He'd sell his goddamn gramps for a forty ounce.”
    You learn quickly around coke users that their mood can change in a heartbeat. Jerome smiled to himself after hitting the bag again like he was the most content man in the world. Instantaneously his previous rage became a distant memory. Though it was still front and center in mine
    “Now come on girl,” he urged bright and animated. “Stick that holdall back in the boot and come meet me inside. I'll tell one of the girls to get you a drink in the meantime.” He dropped the still open bag on top of the holdall and left for the club.
    I felt a tear falling down my cheek before I even realized I was crying. That bastard! That fucking bastard! My hands lashed out at the seat in front of me in frustration at not daring to do anything. Why do I let him treat me like that? Why have I put up with it for so long? My hands pummeled the seat. Aiming every blow at what I wished to be his head.
    Yet, my hands slowed and the fight quickly left me. It was easy to live in a fantasy where I fought back, but the reality is I couldn't. I'd lost the will to fight...
    I wiped away my tears and reapplied mascara and foundation. He made me feel like shit, but I didn't want the world to know.
    In the back of the car I cleaned up the mess Jerome made.

 
     
     
    ~ Chapter Nine ~
     
     
     
    “...Most definitely. I got these hoes on lock. They know how good they get it.” Ez was once again holding court when I reentered the VIP area. I had left the party for over half an hour and seemingly he'd been talking all the while. “Take my shorty here, Pinky. She can tell you.”
    Clearly Ez wasn't inventive with giving his girls nicknames, but in this case it was right.
    Pinky, a short yet phenomenally curvaceous light skinned girl, hung off the arm of one of the men in our circle. She replied with a soft high-pitched voice, “He a good daddy. I ain't had it better.”
    “You see. You see?” Ez waved his arms around to the rest of us. “If it weren't for me. She'd still be a fucking hoodrat doing tricks for white husbands wanting a taste of chocolate.”
    Pinky, draped over the guy to her left, nodded along seemingly satisfied with the words he spoke for her.
    “The pimp brings out the best in bitches. Without us, they wouldn't have a fucking clue. I've never met one with any smarts.”
    “What you mean?” A gruff man in sportswear asked to our left.
    Ez didn't miss a beat. “Think of it this way... How much can a bitch earn on a good day in these streets? Five hundred? A thousand? Pinky, how many men did you fuck a night while on the streets?”
    She took a sip of her drink while thinking to herself. “Maybe... half a dozen. Ten? My best Saturday was a twenty-two.”
    “Exactly!” He beamed. “They're making more Benjamins than most white collar fucks could imagine... Yet you think they save a penny? No sir. They all blow it on drugs, clothes and weaves. They got no sense of perspective. No hoe can think for herself. She needs someone to do it for her...”
    Everyone except me nodded along.
    “...That's where I come in. Pimpin' is an art, and I'm like a manager for them. I keep them hoes in line and my astute control of their bank means they don't blow it as soon as they suck it!”
    Ez and everyone else burst into laughter at his joke.
    I hid behind my drink, and only feigned a smile when I caught Pinky's smiling glance.
    Ez preached on about his methods and how his wisdom has turned many 'street' girls into premium call girls, but my mind drifted back to the bathroom and Blue. Especially as she still hadn't returned. I imagined her still bent over the basin with her ass in the air, cutting up lines and tapping her plump well-used nostrils. Is that the kind of happy life Ez is leading these girls down? I said a silent prayer that I never fell victim to a life like that. Maybe if things had been slightly different that could have been me.
    Of course, irony