by Margaret Kay
He didn’t reply. He just chuckled. Without another word, he turned forward and pulled back onto the road. Her hands were so cold she relented and tucked them up under his jacket, which allowed her to feel how tight his abs truly were, either that or he had a washboard tucked under his shirt. Ripped didn’t even begin to describe what she felt beneath her touch.
They rode for hours. By the time they pulled off the main road and onto an access road that led under an overpass and into a patch of shrubs and weeds, she was chilled everywhere. How was this possible in July? They passed through a cutout opening in a tall chain-link fence and into a vacant-looking trucking yard. Trailers were lined up in row after row on the gravel lot as far as the eye could see, illuminated well by the moonlit night.
The bikes descended a steep hill past the trailer graveyard. In the moonlight, she saw several buildings near a small lake at the bottom of the hill. As they neared, she revised her assessment of them. Referring to them as buildings was generous. There were two larger dilapidated-looking actual structures. The others were shacks, that defied gravity by remaining upright. They were all dark, not a light on in any of them. The whole area appeared empty of human life.
A sick feeling churned in the pit of her stomach that screamed at her to run. She could be in serious trouble out here alone here with these three men. That lake could be a good place to hide a body, hers.
“Follow my lead and be chill. Remember rule number two and act like you’re into me.”
“I’m not that good of an actress,” she said.
Razor huffed out, that smirk twisting his lips in disagreement. He reached his hand to the zipper on her jacket and unzipped it all the way open. Then he yanked on her shirt, pulling it down so far that the black lace edging on the cups of her bra peaked out, her cleavage clearly displayed. She grabbed hold of his hands, still fisted in her shirt. His eyes wandered over her exposed flesh, and he gazed down into her cleavage. A lust-filled smile curved his lips.
“That’s much better. We want these guys to remember your tits, not your face,” he said.
He pulled his hands free of her grasp and brought them to her head. He took the rubber band out and ran his fingers through tousling her tresses. He smiled as he gazed over his handiwork.
When the door opened the thumping bass of music filtered out first, followed by distant voices and laughter. Soft light glowed from within. Razor took hold of her arm and pulled her in behind himself. Only one of the other men followed, closely behind her, the man who wore her backpack. After the outer door was closed behind all three of them, only then did Razor open the heavy inner door.
Music, male voices, laughter, and a sharp, cracking sound of things hitting each other travelled from the area ahead. The stale smell of cigarettes and beer, as well as the unmistakable aroma of pot wafted out. He pulled her through the door. The lighting was low, illuminating a smoky haze, but was bright enough for her to clearly see the large room and its unsavory occupants, who all stopped what they were doing to stare their way for a beat. Even a woman in the center of the room who was on her knees before a guy, his pants undone, performing an act for all to see, stopped what she was doing as they entered.
She felt Razor tug her arm and move her farther within the room. Her eyes went to him, realizing she had stared at the live porn show for longer than she had wanted. She couldn’t help herself from hoping that woman on her knees was there by choice. But seriously, what woman would be if she wasn’t being paid for the service or being forced to do it?
Razor pulled her up against himself and whispered in her ear. “Smile and snuggle up to me.”
As he pulled away, she forced herself to do just that. Her eyes scanned the room. It was packed with leather covered bodies, at least fifty of them. She saw only three other women around the room. That sharp knocking sound came from the right, pool tables.
Razor tugged on her, leading her to the bar. He sat and pulled her to his lap. His dark eyes silently reprimanded her for her shocked glare as one of his hands gripped her high up on her thigh nearly goosing her. The bartender sat two beers and two shot glasses in front of them. Then he poured two shots, leaving the bottle of Jack as he turned away.
Razor lifted his shot glass. His gaze bore into hers. “Pick up your glass,” he growled.
“I don’t do shots,” she whispered.
“You do tonight, sweetheart.” He waited a beat. She didn’t move. “Rule number two.”
“I’d prefer to stay sober and quite frankly with what I’m paying you, I should be able to demand you do as well,” she whispered, her lips by his ear.
He sat his shot glass down. Good, she thought he was complying with her wishes. His hand slid up her arm and he took hold of the back of her neck. He positioned his mouth at her ear. “You will kiss me back,” he said and then with no warning his lips crashed into hers.
His hand held the back of her neck in a death grip. She couldn’t pull away if she wanted to. His tongue penetrated her lips none too gently. Panic filled her. She grabbed hold of him, gripping his muscled biceps. Damn was he solid! She pushed against him for a moment before rational thought kicked in. It couldn’t look like she was fighting him, she was sure, fucking bastard! She stopped short of kissing him back though.
He pulled his lips off hers and returned them to her ear. “Now pick up your fucking shot glass,” he warned. His voice was harsh, so harsh she did so right away. He tapped his against hers. “Now drink,” he growled without moving his lips as he spoke. He raised his to his lips watching her with expectation. She did as well.
She’d never drank a shot of Jack Daniels before. She’d sipped it in Coke and didn’t care much for it diluted. Full strength, it burned all the way down her throat. Her eyes watered. He lifted his beer, his eyes instructing her to as well. She drank a large gulp of the beer, which helped to kill the fire. She blinked back the tears in her eyes.
“Dulling our reflexes just may get us both killed,” she murmured.
“How many sentries on guard did you notice on the way in?” He asked, his lips once again beside her ear.
She nodded to the two guys standing by the door. “None beside them and the third guy who rode in with us who stayed outside,” she answered.
That annoying smirk twisted his lips again. “There were two near the cutout in the fence, four more in the trailer parking lot, three in the vicinity of the buildings and bike parking, which I doubled when we entered.”
“Really?” She asked. How?
“Yeah, this isn’t my first rodeo, sweetheart.” He sounded annoyed. “You’re safe here, or we wouldn’t be here.”
That was a matter of opinion. As overtly sexual as he had been, she seriously doubted she was safe. A man approached them. He and Razor exchanged a few words. He had a silver tool in his hand.
“Your ring finger,” Razor said.
She reached her hand to the man. He inspected it carefully, feeling for himself how tight it was.
“Yeah, that ain’t coming off,” he said with a twangy accent.
He worked the tool between her finger and the ring and then cut the back of the ring. He stretched it and pulled it from her finger. Then he handed it to Razor, who pocketed it. She’d probably never see it again, son-of-a-bitch!
Her finger was indented and deformed from where the band had hugged her finger for ten years. She ran her index finger of her right hand over it feeling the divot in her finger where the band had been. Ten years, ending this way. She caught sight of her own reflection in the mirror over the bar. Who was that woman and what was she doing here?
An image flashed through her mind, that horrible image that persistently haunted her dreams. Her house, entering through the garage like normal and coming into the kitchen. Her husband, Greg, seated at the kitchen table, head back like he was asleep, blood, bullet hole in the center of his forehead. Surreal, impossible, but true. His coffee cup sat beside him on the table, undisturbed. Nothing disturbed in the whole house. H
is Navy ballcap within reach. His .38 conceal carry revolver beneath it, like always. Nothing disturbed, but Greg dead.
The bartender came back to them and she snapped out of her memories. He had two plates crowded with large burgers and a heaping mound of greasy-looking french fries. No silverware, no napkins were in sight. Razor picked his burger up immediately and dove in, taking a huge bite from it. She’d eliminated bread from her diet several years ago, fried foods went shortly after, and the only beef that she ate was occasional, very lean, organic, and grass fed. And it certainly wasn’t prepared on a flat top.
“What now?” He asked with annoyance when he noticed she hadn’t taken a bite yet.
“Nothing,” she said, picking up a french fry and taking a hesitant bite.
Either she was starving, or she had forgotten how good greasy french fries were, because it tasted amazing. She heard Razor’s annoying chuckle and realized she had eaten half the plate of fries in a few seconds. She looked up at him. He regarded her with an amused smile.
“I haven’t eaten fries in years. These are really good,” she explained.
His eyes questioned her how it was she hadn’t eaten fries in years, but he didn’t speak. He watched her lift the burger, dissecting it with a surgeon’s precision. A one-inch section of the top bun was pinched off, the bottom folded away as she took a bite of the beef. Then the excess bottom bun was torn away as well. Another inch of the top bun was removed followed by the bottom repeated until the burger patty was eaten. When she was done, a pile of bun pieces was neatly stacked on her plate.
The bartender came back and took the empty plates. He sat two more beers in front of them, taking away the empties. She didn’t realize it, but she drank every drop. She also didn’t realize that Razor watched her carefully, noting everything she did or didn’t do. He poured them both a second shot and then slid the bottle back to the bartender. The bartender silently questioned Razor as to why he was stopping with only two shots, not his norm.
Razor’s head shake dismissed him. Then his eyes pinned hers and flickered to her shot glass and then back to her stare. She lifted the glass and forced herself to down it, followed by the remainder of her beer. He motioned to the bartender, who brought them two more beers.
“I don’t want to be disturbed,” he told the bartender.
Razor took hold of both beers and stood, pushing Sienna to her feet as well. He led her through a door around the back of the bar. In one fluid motion, he closed it behind them and swung her around, pressing her against it. “It appears we need to revisit the ground rules.”
She gazed at him with wide eyes. He looked pissed. Anger bubbled up inside her overtaking her fear. How dare he? She’s the one who should be pissed. She paid a high price for his service of protection and to transport her.
“Yes, we do,” she said as strongly as she could muster.
His black eyes were piercing, staring hard at her. “You have no other options, or you wouldn’t be here. You will follow my rules.”
“I’m paying you a lot of money. I think I have the right to demand you stay sober and keep your hands and lips off me. You took my guns and insisted I drink, both reducing my ability to protect myself. I haven’t made it this far by being stupid,” she spat.
He laughed. “Sweetheart, the burden of protecting you is on me now. That’s one of the reasons why I have your guns. I’m sure I can protect you a hell of a lot better than you could on your own, even with a few drinks in me.”
“This is my life we’re talking about. I don’t know you and I don’t trust you, so don’t expect me to just let you,” she began but her voice stopped when his strong hand grabbed hold of her jaw and his body slammed against hers. He held her tightly and he forced her to gaze into his face which he had moved in close to hers.
He spoke in a low growl. “Just let me? Sweetheart get it through your pretty little head that I’m the one in charge here. So, there’s no you letting me, or you stopping me, from doing anything. I took a big-ass risk by taking this job. I don’t know you or trust you either. I told you the rules. This is the way it is. Deal with it or walk away, but we both know you can’t simply walk away.”
“You’re right. I can’t,” she admitted.
“The question is, going forward, can you do what I tell you to do?”
“Negate rule number three and I’ll do what you tell me to.”
“This isn’t a fucking negotiation,” he said. “There’s only three kinds of women who would be here in the Pit, girlfriend whores, paid whores, and undercover cops.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“The guys out there don’t know about our arrangement, my biz, not theirs. Which of the three do you want them thinking you are?” He motioned back out to the main room again.
“They’d think I was an undercover cop?”
“There’s no choirboys out there,” he paused as he pointed back to the main room on the other side of the door. “There’s none in here either. You’re not the only one with secrets.”
She thought about that for a second and merely nodded her head.
“And you have no idea what they would do to you if they think for one minute that you’re a cop.”
“What does that have to do with me drinking or your third ground rule?”
“There’s expected behavior in a place like this, remember girlfriend whores or paid whores. So that’s why you had to do shots and snuggle up to me out there. Going forward you will do what I tell you to do without question. This is the last time I will explain myself to you. Do you understand me?”
“We’re behind closed doors now. Keep your hands off me.” She pulled herself away from him. He grabbed hold of her jacket. She slid out of it, leaving it in his hands. Her determined stare met his as she spun around to face him.
He threw her coat to the side then sat the beers on the nearby table. He grabbed her and slammed her back to the wall. This time he held her more tightly to it with both of his hands. “I need to be sure you’re not a cop either,” he growled.
“I’m not, and I think you know that, or I wouldn’t be here,” she forced past trembling lips.
“Then prove it. Take your clothes off and get in that bed.”
“Go fuck yourself,” she spat.
He pulled her over to the bed. “No, I’m going to fuck you, that’s the point of rule number three,” he barked. “Not many female cops will put themselves in this position, and that’s naked, under me. You’re in some big ass trouble or you wouldn’t be paying me what you are to help you disappear.”
“So, you think because of that I would just sleep with you. I might be desperate but I’m not a whore.”
“Desperate people will do just about anything.”
“Not this one.”
“Then we have ourselves a big-ass problem.”
Without another word, He pressed her to the bed, his solid body on top of hers. She struggled against him. He easily restrained both of her fisted hands, which had somehow managed to land a couple of blows on him, blows he barely felt. She concluded quickly that she couldn’t overpower him, but she kept struggling. She sure as hell wouldn’t make this easy for him.
“Simmer down, sweetheart,” he said. He shook her as he spoke and then he held her still, the weight of his body forcing her to comply. “I’ve got you by about a hundred pounds of muscle mass, which means I’m bigger than you are and stronger than you are.”
She stopped struggling. She figured she might need to reserve her strength.
“Now, no more fighting. No biting or scratching, either.” He gazed into her frightened eyes. “If you don’t hurt me, I won’t hurt you, either.” He paused and watched her. She didn’t speak. “Okay?”
She nodded her head. “You do get that if you rape me that will hurt me, right?” She asked, her voice shaky.
“I’ve never raped a woman,” he said. “And I’m not going to rape you either.”
Holding her still fist
ed hands in one of his large hands, he swept the hair from her face with the other and gazed into her frightened, soft blue eyes. His eyes scanned her face. He wondered what she’d look like without the thick black makeup on her eyes or the heavy foundation and blush on her cheeks.
He wondered what color her hair naturally was, probably blond or light brown. He tried to envision her for a second. He bet she’d be a natural beauty without the Elvira-thing going, not that she was unattractive made up this way. It was just that she was made up. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and then let his head hover over hers, only an inch or so away. She was still breathing heavily. He felt each of her exhales hit his face.
“One kiss and put all you have into it. Can you do that?”
She gazed at him searching for deceit. Would one kiss really be all he’d want or force? “That’s it, just one kiss?” She whispered, which was all the sound she could force through her vocal cords.
