Connor rose and pulled off his shirt, before undoing his belt and pushing off his pants. He lay on top of her on the bed, his hardness against her softness. Sam gasped and began to thrust her hips up against him, wanting him inside her so badly she could barely stand it. He pushed himself up on his arms and looked at her, then, sliding a condom over his shaft, slipped the head of his cock over her slick folds. She let out a whimper and tried to move him inside her, but he resisted. Finally, he pushed his head inside her, then began to move in and out slowly, agonizingly, as he fought against their mutual rising need. With each thrust, he pushed progressively deeper, deeper, then pulled out again, until finally he plunged into her as far into her as he could, filling her completely.
Connor began to move inside her, thrusting with long, hard strokes. Almost before she knew what was happening, a second wave of orgasm rose up and crashed over her. Moments later, Connor roared out his release, and she felt him spilling wave after wave of hot seed inside her. They strained toward one another in the final spasms that slowed, finally, and they stayed joined, him still deep inside her, as they collapsed together.
For a few minutes, the only thing Sam could hear in the quiet room was their breathing and the blood rushing in her ears. At some point, nestled in his arms, she fell asleep.
When Sam awoke, several hours later, Connor was lying beside her. His eyes were open and he was looking at her, a lazy grin curving his mouth.
“Morning,” he rumbled. “How you feelin’?”
"Wonderful," she whispered back. “Hungry.”
"I’m feelin’ pretty good, too," he said, smirking. "Wanna do it again?"
"Very much so," she said, moving on top of him to kiss him, and then sliding down toward his already-stirring shaft with a wicked grin. "And then, you're buying me breakfast. Today’s my day off. And there’s a hot biker in my bed. I have a feeling I’m gonna need to keep up my strength.”
Daphne Loveling can be found at:
www.daphneloveling.com
Outlaw Justice
by Jaime Russell
Melissa “Mel” Monroe
I really need a beer.
It’s been a long ass day, and my feet are killing me in these heels. It doesn’t help either that the prosecutor on this case is working my last nerve. He keeps smirking over at me, when I lose an objection. I want to slap that smug look off his face, but I remain calm.
“Your witness.” He winks on the way to his seat.
I can’t react how I want to because all eyes are on me. Honestly, this case shouldn’t be in a courtroom. The fourteen-year-old, sitting next to me, killed her foster father in self-defense. He was trying to rape her. Now, it’s time for me to question the social worker involved. I’m hoping it will shine some light on a few things.
“Mrs. Hemmings, how many cases are you currently working, right now?” I ask her with a smile.
“I have thirty-two open.” She answers.
“Thirty-two seems like an awful lot to me. How do you have time for all those visits?”
“It’s hard sometimes, but I manage.”
“When was the last time you saw the defendant? Not counting her hospital stay, after the near rape.”
“I checked my files to make sure the dates matched. I saw her the week before, and everything seemed normal. She was happy.”
“That’s interesting. According to the file you gave to the prosecutor, and the file your supervisor gave me from your computer, they don’t quite line up. Could you read the highlighted part?”
“Um,” Mrs. Hemmings swallows hard, before grabbing the paper with shaky hands, because she knows that she’s in trouble.
“Cassandra seems a bit withdrawn, scared when the foster father came home, and started dressing in black long sleeve shirts, despite it being almost a hundred degrees outside. I’m going to make an appointment at school for the following day. Something seems off with all five children, the minute the father comes home.”
“Did you see her at school then?” I ask her, taking the paper back.
“No, I didn’t. The next time I saw her was after she stabbed her foster father in the neck, and then tried to kill herself.”
“I’m confused. Why did you go in and alter the paperwork? I’d like to enter into evidence the timestamps from the computer of Mrs. Hemmings.” I give a copy to the judge, prosecutor, and Mrs. Hemmings.
“You have to understand,” she starts to stammer.
“The only thing I have to understand is you doctored official government documents to cover your ass, instead of protecting the children the state puts in your care.”
“Objection your honor. Is there an actual question?”
“Yes, there is. How many more children in the house were being abused sexually by this man? Don’t answer because I doubt you’d know or care.”
“You’re walking a thin line.” The judge orders me, and I nod.
“No further questions.” Mrs. Hemmings leaves the witness stand crying, as the judge calls for a ten-minute break.
I sit down next to Cassandra, who is visibly shaking. “You okay?” I lean over to her, which makes her jumps. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to check on you.”
“I’m alright. What’s happening?”
“We’re on a break for ten minutes. Do you need to go to the restroom or anything?”
“No, I’m fine. I don’t see my foster mother here.” She says, looking around the room.
“She can’t be in here yet, since she’s testifying. Are you going to be okay with her in here?” I ask, and she shrugs. My phone vibrates, and I look down, seeing it’s my sister. I let it go to voicemail, as the bailiff stands, telling everyone to rise. I’ll call her later.
The next two hours are spent with the foster mother, telling how Cassandra threw herself at her husband, and how he was an amazing father that would never hurt a child. It honestly sounds like she rehearsed this for hours on end. Once it’s my turn, I squeeze Cassandra’s hand to reassure her.
“Mrs. Sharpe, thank you for being here. I’m sure this has been hard for you. I won’t keep you too long, but I do have some questions. When did Cassandra withdraw from everyone?”
“She didn’t. I don’t know where Mrs. Hemmings came up with that ridiculous report.”
“I’m going to show you, and the court, some pictures. Here is one from about four years ago, which puts Cassandra at ten-years-old. You had her for what a year here? Look at how happy she is, and how she’s hugging onto you. Now, this picture is from two months ago at her fourteenth birthday. She’s in all black, hiding her face, and completely closed off from everyone.”
“She killed my husband.” Her tone is full of venom, which brings my blood to a boil.
“We’re not denying she killed him, but the coroner stated with the way the knife went into his neck, that he had to have been on top of her. Why do you think he was laying on top of her?”
“What are you trying to say? SHE SEDUCED MY HUSBAND.”
“If she was seducing him, then why would she kill her lover?”
“I don’t know why, but it’s the only logical answer.” Her smugness shows me she is right where I want her. My tech team found some incriminating emails for me to use against her.
“Mrs. Sharpe, do you know what this is?” I hold up the laptop from my table.
“It’s my husband’s laptop. Why do you have it?”
“I subpoenaed it, and my tech team went through it. Did you know, if you delete something, it’s still there?” The look of shock on her face is priceless. “There’s a timestamp of when it was deleted.”
“I’m done with this questioning. I will not allow you to disgrace my husband.”
“Your husband was dead for two days, when these pictures were deleted.” I start showing pictures of the girls in the house undressing in their rooms. The angle of the photos shows that the camera was above the door. My private detective found the wires connected to the cameras. We also found a couple of na
nny cams that were not erased, and one showed the murder.
“I’ll ask you again. Why do you think he was lying on top of Cassandra, when she stabbed him?”
“He was abusing all of the kids. Cassandra, I’m sorry that I wasn’t strong enough to stop him. You did what I wanted to do for years.” She starts crying.
“Why didn’t you tell someone?” I ask her with concern in my voice.
“I tried to tell people, but I could never get the words out. He hurt those kids, and I couldn’t do anything about it. I’m so sorry.” She says, crying into her hands, and I tell them no further questions. Cassandra’s crying, as she hugs me, and I wrap my arms around her, trying to bring her some type of comfort.
“I think this is a good place to stop for the day. Mr. Reynolds, if I were you, I’d be dropping all charges.” The judge bangs the gavel, and we stand.
“Do you think he’ll drop the charges?” She asks, wiping the tears from her face.
“I don’t know. He’s a hard person to read. Now, the guard is going to take you to juvie, and I’ll see you later tonight.” She nods.
“Thank you for believing in me.” I smile at her, as I gather up my papers to put into my briefcase.
“I guess I need to drop the charges.” Charles says.
“You know we have the proof of self-defense. It’s the right thing to do.” I state, as we walk out together.
“I’ll draw up the paperwork, and message it over to you tomorrow.”
“Please, do it tonight. Why put her through this mess any longer?”
“I agree.” The judge says, standing behind us.
“We can go back to the courtroom now, so she doesn’t spend another night in jail.”
“I need to get the okay from my boss.” Charles argues and walks away.
I really hope he does.
******
“Asher,” I call out for my German Shephard dog, as I walk into my apartment. Damn, I want some wine, but I can’t, because I still need to work. If I get to pick up Cassandra tonight, I need to be completely sober. My cell phone rings, and I see it’s my sister again.
“Mags, what’s up?”
“It’s about damn time you answer.” She sounds stressed out.
“I was in the middle of court, and I couldn’t.”
“I’m at the clubhouse. Something’s happened, and I need you here.” I hear her sob, and there’s some static.
“Hello?” A gruff, deep voice says into the phone.
“Who the hell is this?”
“Gamble. I’m the President of the club where your brother-in-law is a member.”
“I’ve heard about you. Why am I talking to you?”
“Your sister and brother-in-law are both a mess, right now. Someone took Rocko.”
Rocko is my ten-year-old nephew, and suddenly, I feel sick to my stomach.
“I’ll need to make some arrangements, but please, tell her that I’m coming.”
Gabe “Gamble” Smith
“Oh, and Gamble?”
“Yeah?” I mutter into the phone.
“Get my number from her phone and text me. I’ll be contacting you to get updates.”
“Yes ma’am.” I say, hanging up the phone.
Me: It’s Gamble.
Text’s sister-in-law: Thank you.
Me: No problem.
I put my phone away. “She’s coming.”
“Thank you. I couldn’t tell her.”
Chelsea has been like a sister to me, ever since Text, my best friend from elementary school, brought her into the club fifteen years ago. I knew she had a sister, but from what Text tells me, she’s a stuck-up bitch.
“That’s what family is for. Now, go get some rest. We have our best people out there looking for Rocko, and I’ll call the detective in charge to see if there are any new leads.”
“I can’t sleep. I need my son.”
How do you help someone, when all you want to do is cry along with them, and you can’t because everyone is looking at you to be the strong one? Rocko is my godson, and I care about him just as if he was my own.
I’m the president of The Brothers of Olympus MC. It’s a motorcycle club my grandfather started with some friends, and the name comes from his love of Greek Mythology. When it first started, it was a simple club that did charity rides, and they also took part in the Founder’s Day parades. My dad and uncles started prospecting for them, when they were sixteen, and once they took over, the rules changed a lot. My dad made the club all about guns and women. They protected the guns, and used the women, until my Uncle Sam saw profit in them. My dad died, in a gun battle, over those women with a rival gang. I have worked my way up the ranks, trying to restore this club. We now have a garage, tattoo parlor, a nightclub, and a boys’ and girls’ club that we own and run. We’re making a profit, but still run the guns, and now, we protect the women. We try to stay on the right side, but some things can’t change. If push comes to shove, we’ll handle things the old school way.
“Yeah, but you have a daughter who is scared, too. You need to be rested and in the right frame of mind, when we bring him home.” She nods, walking over to Shawna, who is three and doesn’t understand.
“Let’s go watch a movie and eat some popcorn.” I walk over to the popcorn machine to start popping it.
“Someone will bring it to you. You want extra butter, Shawna?” She nods with a smile, as Chelsea and Text head up to their room.
“I can’t imagine what they’re going through. Do you know anything new?” One of the new prospects asks.
“No, but I’m going to call the detective, after I make this popcorn.” He nods.
“I’ll take it up for them.”
“Thanks man.” I give him the popcorn and head into the office.
I toss my phone, rubbing my hands over my face. I wish I knew what to do to help them. This is breaking my heart. I find the number for the detective and hit dial.
“Yeah?” The man answers.
“This is Gamble. I mean, Gabe Smith.”
“I know who you are Gamble. What do you need?”
“I need an update. What are your leads?”
“I told you I’d call with an update. Why do you care?” He mumbles something that I can’t quite hear.
“Rocko is my godson, which means he’s family. He’s been gone almost two days now, and there’s nothing.” I say, slamming my hand down on the desk.
“Go back to your club whores.” He says, hanging up the phone.
“Fucking asshole.” I mutter.
Why is he being such a douche right now?
“Everything okay?” Text asks, standing in the doorway.
“Yeah, sorry. I thought you were sleeping.”
“I can’t sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I keep seeing that white van, pulling away with Rocko screaming for me.”
“We’ll get him back. I promise you.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, man. Thanks for dealing with my stick up her ass sister-in-law, too.”
“Oh, she’s on her way here.”
“You invited her here?”
“I didn’t invite her. Your wife did.”
“Keep her and her self-righteous attitude away from me.”
“I’m not a babysitter. Anyways, I need to head into town soon to get some food. I’d ask Chelsea, but she needs to rest.” He nods, and then walks away.
I spend the next three hours working on the ledgers of the businesses. Finally, I get everything caught up, so I grab the keys to my truck and walk out of the office. It’s a nice warm October day here in Portland, Oregon, but it sucks Rocko is missing.
I walk to the red 350, and I see a black Bentley, pulling into a spot next to mine. A flustered woman with long, brown hair and legs that go on for miles gets out of the car. She lets out a dog from the backseat, while she talks with someone in the passenger seat. The German Shepherd comes over to the driver side of my truck, and I bend down to pet it.
&n
bsp; “Aren’t you a handsome boy? Yes, you are.” I say, talking baby talk to the dog.
“Asher!” I hear the woman yell.
“He’s over here,” she comes to stand at the bed of my truck.
“Asher, bad puppy. Sorry, he hates car rides. I’m looking for Chelsea.”
“You don’t look like you have a stick stuck up your ass.” The kid standing next to her snickers.
“You must be Gamble, and I see Text still loves talking about me like that, but yes, I’m Melissa. Are there any leads? What happened?”
“The kids were playing in the front yard. Chelsea went inside to grab her camera, and Text was in the driveway working on her car. Suddenly, there was screaming coming from the porch, and Rocko started yelling for his dad. A masked man grabbed him and threw him in the white van. Text followed them on his bike, but he lost them in a sea of cars at rush hour. The cops are useless here, and we’re trying to get some leads.”
“Is Jace okay? I can’t imagine what’s running through his mind.” I’m shocked she’s thinking of Text, instead of blaming him for this lifestyle. “Do you have the name of the officer in charge? I want to speak with him.”
“Yeah, it’s inside on my desk, but I’m heading out to the store. Can you wait, until I get back?”
Twisted Tales of Mayhem: 2019 MMM Special Edition Anthology Page 50
