"I'm way too sober for this.”
I'll have the prompt show up in bold in the flash so you can see where it falls out. This is currently being worked into my cocky biker WIP.
“Shit goes in the toilet. That looks like laundry.” The snarky feminine voice made me raise my gaze to a woman leaning against the doorjamb of my cabin.
“Nothing gets past you.” I eyed the dark-haired woman wearing thigh-length cut-offs and an old Iron Maiden t-shirt. “Are there facilities to do our own laundry or is there a service?”
My visitor smirked, tossing her ponytail over her shoulder. “Wow, you really are a city girl, aren’t you?”
I shot her a flat look. “Nope, just trying to figure out how you do things around here. I’m afraid when I was manipulated and abducted out here, I missed the orientation.”
She pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear and shrugged. “Yeah, I can see how that might make things tough. Good news is there’s a laundry room on the north side of the clubhouse where we all do our stuff. Communal soap and machines, but individual elbow grease.”
I started to move past her when she shot out an arm with a red bandana wrapped around her wrist like a thick bracelet.
“Scuttlebutt is you caught the eye of my brother Scott.” Her dark eyes glittered as the humor left them. “Word to the wise. Don’t hurt him or you’ll answer to me.”
Anger surged and I raised my chin despite her shorter stature. “Listen up so there’s no confusion. His broken heart isn’t my responsibility. I didn’t come here to hook up with anyone or lead anyone on or fuck anyone. In fact, I didn’t want to come here at all. His lust is his problem. So back the fuck off.”
“Oh, I can see why he likes you.”
“Oh for glory’s sake.” I shook my head and pushed past her out the door. “Out. I need to lock up because I don’t trust any of you.”
“Aw come on.” The woman slid past me as I shut the door behind her. “You don’t trust a pack of Concrete Angels members when you’re livin’ with them?”
“Not any farther than I could comfortably spit out a dead sewer rat.” I locked the door and pocketed the key.
She threw back her head and laughed a surprisingly sultry laugh. “Oh, I like you a lot, Numbers.” She held out her hand. “Dollhouse.”
“My name’s Dollhouse.”
Out of habit, I took her hand and shook. “Nice to meet you.” What the hell was I saying? It wasn’t nice to meet any of these people.
“Let me help you with that.” She took an armload of towels and wrinkled her nose. “Damn. How much perfume did Melrose use anyway? Gah.”
Despite my unease with Dollhouse, I laughed. “I dunno. It kinda reminds me of old ladies who’ve lost their sense of smell.”
“Yeah, totally. We have to wash these like yesterday.” She hurried to the northern end of the clubhouse, past the gawking junior members of the Concrete Angels who lounged around until someone gave them something to do. A few of them eyed us with the typical male look of appraisal and my gut told me it wouldn’t be long before one of them was stupid enough to make a move on her, me, or both.
Like the rest of the compound, the laundry room was neat, tidy, and painted. While the floor was concrete, it had been sealed with resin to make it shiny and easy to clean. We staggered inside under our loads and threw them into separate washers. Dollhouse handed me the soap and we started the machines.
“Why Dollhouse?” I leaned my back against the washer.
She smirked. “Because I can be anyone I want to be.”
“Why not ‘Chameleon’ or something like that?”
Dollhouse shrugged. “Too many syllables for the boys to keep track of. You know how you have to help them.”
I snorted. “Ain’t that the truth.”
“Also when I started in the Concrete Angels, I was workin’ in a brothel north of Vegas called Last Dollhouse.” She waved her hand at my look of dismay. “It wasn’t that bad. I had dental and medical coverage, and the johns knew if they fucked with me, management would kick their asses and throw them out. Most of them were truckers who hadn’t seen their old ladies in too long so I often played the woman they missed.”
“Wasn’t fucking with you what they paid for?” I asked dryly.
“Funny.” She rolled her eyes. “It wasn’t too bad. But when Loki stopped by on his way to wherever, one of his guys got a little stupid and gave me this scar.” She turned and I followed her finger as it traced a thick scar from her collar bone over her shoulder.
“Yeah. Not pretty and therefore, not able to work in that field any longer. Loki made up for it, though. He gave me the asshole’s place in the Concrete Angels and traded in his honkin’ Harley for something a little more feminine.” She winked. “I’ve been here ever since. No one fucks with me unless I say it’s okay and the money’s better, too.” She checked the time on the washers. “Come on. Let’s go talk to Neo about your internet access and shit like that. The stuff will be okay here.”
I followed her back outside and sure enough, the young pups of the gang had converged on our path, waiting for us to show. Some of them were nearly half my age, but I suspected that wouldn’t stop their raging hormones and egos.
We’d made it almost to the side door when one particularly short and robust punk moved in for a tête-a-tête.
“Hey, sugar, what’s a pretty thing like you doing here?”
Aw hell. I’m way too sober for this shit.
I waited a few heartbeats for Dollhouse to step in and warn him off, but she seemed to be waiting to see what I would do.
“Let’s just stop that right there, all right?” I held up my hand as I looked down at him. I must have had at least six inches on him. “I’m not your sugar or a thing. If you have to address me, you can use the name Hunter. As for what I’m doing here? Working.”
That was the wrong thing to say because his eyes flared with lust and he licked his lips. “What kind of work does a pretty thing like you do? Something…horizontal?”
“No, and no, I’m not interested in you. Leave me alone.” I shifted to move around him and he reached out to grab my arm.
“Now don’t be like that. You look like fair game to me. You’re not wearin’ someone’s patch and the only girls who come here are fresh cunts.”
I clenched my teeth so hard my jaw ached. There were so many things wrong with what he’d said that I couldn’t begin to tamp down the rage rising inside me. I didn’t belong to anyone. I wasn’t a ‘fresh cunt’ for him to enjoy, and I wasn’t a prostitute. At least not the sexual variety. I definitely sold my services for money, but they didn’t involve sex with men.
“Take your hand off me before I cut it off.” I purposely left my voice low and cold as I met his gaze. “If I have to resort to violence, not only will you be physically hurt, but you’ll have to deal with Loki because my contract specifically said if someone sexually harasses me, I get to leave without repercussions. We both signed in blood. You wanna face him after that?”
That's it for me this week. Check out how the prompt worked for the other flash fiction authors below and happy reading.