by Tiana Laveen
Her eyelids fluttered as he massaged her zone, his touch demanding, rhythmic. He pressed his thumb against her clit over and over, as if he had a map of her naked body, memorized it and came prepared. “I know you liked looking at me with my shirt off. That’s just the tip of the iceberg. You should see me from the waist down. Better yet, feel me from the waist down…” He snatched her hand and guided it slow and easy along his dick over his jogging pants.
“Shit…” She blinked, resting her head against the wall. She shuddered as he forced her to fondle his nature. Thick. Long. Hard.
“Imagine that big dick inside of you… going in… and out… in… and out… fuckin’ you harder… faster… feels soooo good, baby… tell me you like it…”
“I like it.” She whimpered, her eyes closed as she grinded against his hand, falling under his nasty spell.
“Good girl… You know what, Nita? I like you so much that I haven’t fucked anyone else since we went to the skating rink,” he whispered in her ear, his warm breath tickling her neck. He kissed her, then sucked on her lobe. “All I wanted was you. I put all of my focus on you. I wasn’t going to give up until I got you. I like how you look, how you smell, the way your lips feel against mine. I like how you talk to me, make me feel. I like how hard you love, how nurturing and dependable you are. I’ve been watching you, and once I saw the type of person you are, well, I had to have that… You’re my beautiful, sweet slice of cake. I want a big piece of you real soon, baby. And you’re gonna give it to me. That’s what the fuck I want for my birthday. I’ll bring the icing…”
Abruptly, he knocked her hand away from his nature, like a record needle skipping over an LP, and she was snatched out of the hedonistic trance. When she looked up into his green eyes, she saw a monster… and an angel, too.
He snatched her chin, crushed her lips in a kiss, then picked up his toolbox and disappeared out the door…
CHAPTER NINE
Bet Your Bottom Dollar
Ethan was trashed. The man barely held onto a sliver of awareness as he argued that he wasn’t in fact shit-faced by the third hour of their time at the MotorCity Casino Hotel. The birthday bash had commenced with a bang. His friends had given him cash for gifts, paraded him around, and started a bar tab in his honor. Hunter enjoyed moseying about, going off by himself on occasion, reacquainting himself with the lavish surroundings, watching high rollers and big spenders as he nursed a beer.
“Armageddon!” Ethan suddenly yelled, causing an uproar of laughter from their circle of intoxicated bros. The drunken man flopped down onto a chair, then stood upright as if he’d been shot out of a rocket. His gray eyes crossed on occasion and he kept howling at women that sauntered by – most of them married, walking with their husbands, who in turn gave him angry glares paired with a few choice words.
Hunter swung his friend around to face him as they stood next to some sloppy slot machines.
“You’re cut off.”
“Cut off? Sawwwwed off, shoot gun!” Ethan screamed, following the words by a burst of silly, high-pitched laughter.
“Shhhh! You can’t say shit like that in here!” Hunter looked about, relieved security hadn’t approached. He took a seat, forcing Ethan down right beside him as the rest of the group disappeared into the smoke and machines. They had hotel rooms booked for the night on the 12th floor and planned to party hard all night long. He had to admit he was having a good time. Hunter polished off his beer while his friend cackled, then slumped in his seat and grew quiet. After a while, he growled and burst out laughing again.
“Man, you are really fucked up. Those long island iced teas will do it to ya every time.” Hunter chuckled as he lit a birthday cigar. Blowing out dense rings, he went back to people watching for a bit. “Hey.” He glanced down at his watch. “We should get somethin’ to eat from the buffet, Ethan. You need something to soak up all that liquor.” He patted Ethan’s back and they both began to make their way through the casino.
Taking in the sights as they trekked, he took note of a picturesque display of wine bottles that rotated downward in a merlot and chardonnay display of splendor. They passed a Little Caesars pizza spot, as well as some burger joint.
“Here it is. The Assembly Line Buffet.” Ethan nodded and swallowed, looking a bit peevish. Hunter snuffed out his cigar, slid his phone out of his pocket, and sent a fast group text to their friends:
We’re at the Assembly Line. Get in here with us and eat.
They proceeded to find a table large enough to accommodate everyone, then got in line. A few minutes later, Mike and Bruce joined them and they made a good time of it, eating and drinking. With their steaks and burgers situated on the large, round table, Bruce, the non-drinker going on four years sobriety, lifted his water glass with a lime wedge up in the air for a toast.
“Happy birthday to my main man, Hunter. Glad you’re back home and gettin’ on your feet. You’re a great guy, Tyrant! May this be the best damn birthday ever, man!” They clinked their glasses together, and it was bottoms up. While the guys chatted merrily, his thoughts wandered off. He slipped his phone back out his pocket and re-read a birthday text from Nita, which he’d received that morning.
Janet Jackson: Happy Birthday, Hunter. Have a great time with your friends. I’ll see you in the morning.
He took a while to work out the right response in his mind…
Hey, Janet Jackson. I’m having a good time tonight but can’t stop thinking about you. I’ll be over in the A.M. He debated hitting send, then went on and did so. The guys carried on, traveling down memory lane. Hunter burst out laughing when a waitress sauntered over with a big birthday cake adorned with three lit gold candles.
“Awww, man! You all didn’t have to do this.” The woman set it down, a pretty smile on her face.
“Happy Birthday, to yoooou! Happy Birthday, to you! Happy birthday, dear Tyyyyyyrant! Happy Birthday, to yoooou! And maaaany more, with beers and whooores! Yeeeeaaaaahhhh!” they sang offkey.
Hunter blew out the candles, which was followed by raucous applause. Mike cut the cake for everyone then went up to the buffet to get scoops of ice-cream for the crew. They’d had the whole damn thing planned out and he loved it. Hunter leaned back in the booth, chilling and happy everyone was having a good time. The super sweet, moist vanilla chocolate swirl cake felt good going down. He chased it with sips of water.
He ran his hand over his head, feeling his new haircut, done by a Black barber who gave him his Caesar style back, the sideburns a bit longer and flowing nicely into his beard. It did look sharp.
“Hunter, you got some money tonight for your birthday, drank a bit, ate a lot, so now all you need is some pussy.” Bruce shoved a forkful of cake into his mouth. This was followed by a series of head nods and laughter from the guys.
“Mike, how’s work going now? We never talked about your new job?” Hunter asked.
“It’s going good but don’t change the subject. We gotta get you a woman tonight, man. Usually by now you would’ve already cased the joint and had some prospects.” The man grinned in an all-knowing way and rubbed his hands together. “I know I sure as hell do, and it isn’t even my damn birthday.”
“I’ve seen a lot of good-looking women tonight,” Ethan slurred, his eyes dancing with mischief. “I might go snatch shoppin’.”
“You’re married,” Bruce snapped.
“Married… not dead. Shit.” Ethan sucked his teeth. “Every couple of years, every guy, married or not, should have a one-night stand, in my opinion.”
Bruce booed and shook his head as if disgusted. The guy had changed a lot over the years. He used to be into heavy drugs, running the streets; now he was straight-laced, and barely even cursed anymore. Hunter found that curious. Perhaps even fascinating.
“I’m serious, man. It’s good for my marriage.”
“How in the hell would you messin’ around be good for your marriage? If you don’t wanna be with Clara anymore, just tell her.” Bruce’s dar
k brows bunched.
“I love Clara. That’s not it… It just spices things up is all. Look, man, when you get married, then you come talk to me about that shit. I’ve been married since I was fuckin’ eighteen years old. We were kids. Sex and love aren’t the same. I can fuck a chick and not think about her ever again.” Just then, Ethan’s gaze roamed toward another waitress, a cute brunette with long straight hair that hit right below the waist. He got up and chased after her, making his move. Hunter reached for his glass of water, took a sip, then chugged the rest of his beer.
“I’ll be right back,” Mike said as he slid out the booth, looking down at his phone. “I need to make a quick call.”
After he left, Bruce glared at him, something obviously on the tip of his tongue that he just had to let loose.
“What do you think?” Bruce asked, judgment swimming in his dark brown eyes.
“Think about what?” Hunter tapped his lighter on the table, to the tune of the music that was playing.
“Ethan cheating? I mean, shit, man, we gotta grow up.” Bruce leaned forward, his eyes sheening with memory-fueled emotion. “We’re not in our twenties anymore. We’ve got responsibilities. No, I’m not married yet, but I’ve got my boys. I’ve got kids. I’ve got a job, ya know? People depend on me and if I decide to get married, no matter what age I say the vows, then hell, the least I could do is try ’nd stay faithful. He acts like it’s a badge of honor to go out and do whatever. What if he brings home a disease to Clara or somethin’?”
Hunter placed the lighter down and spun it like a spinning top. The more seconds passed, the more he wanted to go over Nita’s house, but he couldn’t disappoint his friends like that. They’d planned this special night for him, after all.
“You know what, Hunter? I hoped he was talkin’ outta his ass since he’s loaded, but from the looks of things,” he said with a grimace as he pointed at Ethan, who was still chasing the woman, “he’s dead serious. You should talk some sense into him.”
“Ethan’s a grown man, Bruce.”
“I know that, Tyrant, but I’m asking you what do you think about it? Ya think it’s right? You think we should be acting the same way we did ten years ago? We’re his friends. We should all be talking to him. He’s got some problems!”
“Have you ever cheated on a girlfriend, Bruce?”
The man’s complexion deepened.
“Yeah, but that was years ago. I wouldn’t do that now.”
“Right, and so have I. I’m not interested in that type of shit now in my life, but I understand we’ve all got our buttons and we move at our own speed. Not everybody is at the same place on their journey. Not everyone grows and moves at the same pace. You have to ask yourself, ‘Can I stop Ethan from wanting sex with other women?’ The answer is no.” Hunter shrugged. “But that doesn’t mean he isn’t full of shit. He is… I’m not worried about tall tales. The guy is lyin’ through his fucking teeth.”
“So you do think he’s just talkin’ shit. You think he made all of that shit up?”
“Yeah, man, I do. I’ve known him too long to fall for this. So have you. I know how his mind works. He’s doing it because he feels insecure. That type of shit goes deeper than what you see right now.” Hunter looked over his shoulder at Ethan who was now speaking to another woman. He turned back to Bruce. “We’ve all known each other since we were kids. You know Ethan lies sometimes and is a big time showoff. He’s a good guy, but he feels incompetent sometimes.”
“Shit, I don’t know why. He makes more money than me and Mike.” The man’s face twisted, as if a part of him didn’t think that was quite fair.
“Money doesn’t solve a problem like that. See, Ethan wants to be top dog. He doesn’t draw the same amount of attention you and I do. I don’t even like a lotta attention, but I get it anyway. He’d love to have that problem. Anyway, back to the original discussion.” He grabbed his water and took another sip. “I don’t think he’s fucking anyone else, Bruce. At least not as much as he says. I think it’s all an act. To try and impress me… and you… and Mike. He thinks we’ll think he’s the man. He saw it was backfiring with how you responded, but he’s determined now to ride this out.”
Bruce sighed and nodded in agreement. “You think he’s unhappy in his marriage?”
“Ethan’s not happy, period, man. Unhappy people do unhappy shit. They act out.” I should know… Hunter picked up his glass of water, took a sip then polished off his piece of birthday cake. He knew that Bruce was coming from a bruised and dark place from the past. His ex-fiancée had cheated on him years ago with an associate of theirs, another guy they’d gone to school with – it was a trigger for the man. He’d never gotten over it.
“I don’t give a fuck!” Hunter was shaken out of his conversation with Bruce when Mike yelled a ways away. Both he and Bruce getting to their feet, they saw their friend now in the throes of a fight with another man.
“Shit!” Bruce spat as the two raced over to Mike, instantly jumping into it, trying to break it up. What began small turned into a ball of human flesh and muscle that grew and pulsated into at least ten bodies. It moved out into the casino playing area, causing an uproar. Screaming and curse words ensued, fists flew, some missed, a few landed. Hunter managed to wrangle free from the mass, step back, and assess the situation. He was screaming Mike and Bruce’s name, then Ethan’s as he noticed the drunk bastard had realized what was going on and joined the mayhem.
A loud crash followed and blood trickled down the side of Bruce’s face. Within a blink, Hunter’s body heated with rage and his arms began swinging, one hit after another, right hook, right hook, left, until the fucker that smashed a bottle against his friend’s head went down in a deep sleep. He swung on another guy, clocking him in the eye and sending him flying a few feet away. Arms grabbed him and pulled tight, so many… but too few. He kicked and wiggled, stomping the fucker as security struggled to contain him, eventually overpowering him. Meanwhile, a fourth man joined in and hauled him away. His heart was beating like a hammer against a nail. Adrenaline pumping… He grinned, unable to contain himself. He felt alive; his desire to be in the middle of something ugly and twisted had finally fallen at his feet.
He needed to beat shit up, tear shit apart, rip shit to shreds… He craved the intoxicating touch of violence and abuse like he needed air.
“Let me go!” he roared, falling out of the sweetness of the moment as reality set in.
“The cops are comin’ for your ass, Andre’ the damn Giant! You big, crazy motherfucker! You put that guy to sleep and busted the other guy’s eye!”
“They busted my friend with a bottle! Grab their asses! You’re not a real cop, get tha fuck off of me!”
“We’re not going to argue with you. You can just sit ’nd wait for the police,” one of the security officers yelled as they dragged him through the casino like some circus freak. People gawked at him as he was pushed about, his arms now tied behind his back. Maybe he could talk his way out of this. After all, he hadn’t thrown the first punch and he wasn’t drunk. But he knew his hands were deadly, and he’d crossed the line. He boxed for fun, years of self-taught training and amateur boxing matches. Several of his trophies and belts were packed away in his apartment.
“Did you hear what I said? They attacked my friend. I wasn’t going to stand there and let them beat him up.”
The guys in the security get-ups didn’t respond. As soon as they reached a closed door, undoubtedly to cast him inside like garbage in a can, an unfamiliar man’s voice broke through the crowd.
“Wait a minute.” Everyone turned to see a tall, slender older man with dark olive skin, salt and pepper hair brushed away from his broad forehead, bushy eyebrows and dark brown eyes framed in crow’s-feet. He donned chunky diamond and gold rings on every single finger, a fine silver and black suit, and a shiny white cane. Young & Company’s, ‘I Like What You’re Doing To Me’ played through the casino speakers. The music seemed louder than before. He peered
at Hunter, as if he knew him from somewhere, but was trying to place the name. Hunter had no idea who the man was, but he’d play along if it meant getting these fuckers off him and going home without a trip in the paddy wagon. “Bring him to my office.”
The older man walked away confidently, taking long, slow strides. Minutes later, Hunter was on an elevator with three of the four guards. It reminded him of prison, the way they glared at him, stood too damn close, and tried to beat him down with their eyes. He was led down a hotel hallway to a set of double doors that cast back his reflection. One of the guards swiped a card which forced the doors open. When he stepped inside, he found himself in an elaborate office. There were ceiling to baseboard windows framed by cream curtains. A large, round desk, trimmed in gold sat in the far corner and the man with the white cane was now sitting behind it, smoking a cigarette and holding a glass filled with something dark, maybe bourbon.
All around him were camera feeds from the casino, a wall of computers showcasing different angles, people drinking, eating, gambling and even shows being performed. One camera featured what appeared to be a porno but perhaps it was live.
“Have a seat.” The security officers turned him loose, removed the restraints from his wrists, and one pointed to a pewter chair in front of the large desk. Tapping his embers into a glass ashtray, the man leaned back in his scarlet leather chair and smiled, then laughed. Hunter looked back at the officers who were still standing in the room, then back at the old man.
“Somethin’ funny?” Hunter questioned, perturbed and disturbed.
“Not particularly. What’s your name?” The man took another draw of his cigarette.
