CHEAP SMUT: Four Erotic Romance Novels (Boxed Set)

by Scott Hildreth

  After a quick study of his text messages, it appeared Lamar was on his way. I glanced at my watch, realized it was definitely not three o’clock like it depicted, and glanced at the screen of the phone. If Lamar was going to be on time, and most drug dealers never were, he was five minutes late.

  “Lamar carry a gun?” I asked.

  He stopped scratching his neck and glanced in my direction. “Huh?” he murmured.

  “Does Lamar carry a fucking gun?” I asked as I walked to the table.

  “Uhhm. No, Dude,” he said.

  “If he walks in here strapped, I’m going to shoot you first, and then I’m going to shoot his dumb ass. Does he carry a gun? I asked again.

  He widened his eyes and shook his head from side-to-side. “No, Dude, I swear.”

  “When he gets here, you’re going to tell him just what you told me, understand? No more, no less. ‘It’s open’ is all you’re going to say, understand?” I asked.

  “Uh huh,” he responded.

  Some of the people I encountered through my day-to-day activities were more intelligent than others. A good portion of them were simply people who got caught up in trouble, and were incapable of meeting their commitments. Others were questionable, and some were just plain stupid. A quick study of the text messages on the phone provided enough information for me to believe the scab covered fool on the floor was the biggest idiot I had ever had the experience of encountering. It seemed every drug deal he made was detailed in the form of a text message on his phone for all to see.

  “You know the government can read these messages without a search warrant, right?” I asked.

  “Huh?”

  “Neverfuckingmind,” I said.

  My level of respect for Jimmy Weed diminished slightly as I placed the phone on the table beside me. For anyone to trust such an idiot to return any amount of money did nothing in my opinion but clearly show their desperation of hope for another dollar earned. As the sound of a vehicle in the drive became apparent, I stood from the chair.

  “Move your skinny ass over toward the couch and remember what I said,” I said as I waved the gun in his direction.

  I walked to the hinge side of the front door and stood. Three sharp knocks were met by the scab covered fool’s authorization to enter.

  “It’s open,” he said.

  The door opened, and who appeared to be the walking skeleton’s brother entered holding a small cardboard box.

  “Don’t move or I’ll blow your fucking brains all over the wall,” I said as I stepped from behind the door and pressed the pistol into his temple.

  “Oh fuck, Dude. Don’t shoot me. You can have it all,” he said as he tried to hand the box to me.

  “Put it on the floor,” I demanded.

  He dropped the box at his feet. It hit the floor with a solid thud. I shifted my eyes to dumbass number one, and back to number two. They appeared to be twins.

  “Brothers?” I asked.

  “Twins,” dumbass number one responded.

  Just what the world needs, two of these dumb fucks.

  “Go stand by your brother,” I said. “Don’t reach in your pockets or do anything stupid, or I’ll shoot both of you, understand?

  “Yeah…I uhhm. Fuck…Don’t shoot me. Yeah…I understand,” he murmured as he walked toward the couch.

  I picked up the box, opened it, and looked inside. To describe it as being full of money would be an understatement.

  “How much is in here?” I asked.

  “Uhhm, money or meth?” Lamar asked.

  “Money,” I responded as I peered into the cash filled box.

  “It’s uhhm. It’s…there’s…there’s twenty-two grand…uhhm…in bills, and about thirty grand worth of…in there…uhhm, in meth,” he responded.

  I shifted my eyes toward dumbass number one. “You dipshit. So you had enough to pay your debt and keep your word, and you didn’t?”

  “Huh?” number two asked. “What debt?”

  I shook my head in frustration as I alternated glances between the box and the two idiots. “Jimmy Weed.”

  “You didn’t pay The Weed?” number one asked number two.

  Number two shrugged his shoulders. “Dude, I was gonna pay him after we got the shit sold.”

  I waved the pistol toward the kitchen. “Both of you just shut the fuck up. Go sit in the kitchen in the middle of the floor.”

  Dumbass number one led the way, and number two followed close behind. After they were both sitting in the middle of the floor picking at their faces, I turned, locked the front door, and walked to my seat. I dumped the contents of the box in the middle of the table, and began to count the money, doing my best to stick with hundred dollar bills. The box was filled with every denomination of bill, including countless well-weathered one dollar bills. A few minutes later, I had two piles of cash.

  One with thirteen thousand and one with three thousand nine hundred.

  “We can do this one of two ways. You owe Mr. Weed thirteen grand. That’s not negotiable. My cut is thirty percent. So, I can take the thirteen, leave the rest, and you’ll be seeing Mr. Weed – or quite possibly me – again, for the thirty-nine hundred dollar fee I’m charging him, because that comes off the top of his thirteen grand. Or, you can pay the thirteen and pay me my cut now, and it’ll be the last you see of either of us. So, do you two want to discuss it?” I asked.

  “Take all you want,” Lamar said.

  “I want thirty-nine hundred, and not a cent more. Mr. Weed wants thirteen grand. I really don’t give a fuck if you pay me, or if he pays me. I’m just telling you a way to keep him, or me, from coming back. So what’ll it be?” I asked.

  “Take it all now,” dip shit number one said. “The thirteen and the three grand.”

  I shook my head. “Thirty-nine hundred.”

  “Yeah, whatever. Take it. And you’re just gonna go? Like that’s it?” he asked.

  I stood from my seat and shoved my gun in the holster. “Yep. That’s it.”

  “And you’re leaving the dope and the rest of the money?” he asked.

  I glared at him as if he was even more of an idiot than he actually was. “It ain’t mine, why the fuck would I take it?”

  He shrugged his shoulders and widened his eyes. “Because you have the gun?”

  “You dumb fuck. Having a gun doesn’t give a person the right to steal. A gun is a deterrent to crime and a means of protection, not a license to be a god damned thief. I fucking swear, that’s what’s wrong with society. No one keeps a promise, and people are too god damned quick to take what’s not rightfully theirs,” I said as I shoved the piles of money in my two front pockets.

  “Good luck in your endeavors, Fellas,” I said as I unlocked the door.

  I stepped onto the porch, pulled the door closed behind me, and started to walk away. After pausing for a long second, I pushed it open and peered inside. The two dipshits were still sitting on the kitchen floor scratching their faces.

  “You two fuckers can get up now,” I said.

  They both stood up and stared in my direction. I considered giving further instructions, but opted to simply pull the door closed and leave.

  It bothered me that the criminal activities in the city were carried out by idiots like the two men I had just left behind. There is no honor among thieves was a saying I had always believed to be true. At least in my mind, a thief was the worst type of criminal to ever exist. A drug dealer, however, was nothing short of a businessman, choosing an illicit or illegal substance as his means of obtaining income.

  Drug dealers weren’t inherently bad people, nor did I assume they were irresponsible simply based on their chosen profession. Furthermore, I didn’t believe all drugs were bad, or that they should all be illegal, yet I refused to enter in the debates regarding their legality. I did, however, believe that a man should always honor his word when he gave it, regardless of his means of obtaining income.

  A promise was no different than a contrac
t, and when a man gave his word, he needed to honor it at any or all costs. If he didn’t or wouldn’t, he was as worthless as the promise he had broken.

  If my father taught me one thing before he died, it was to be honorable.

  I walked to my truck a member of a motorcycle club, a one percenter, a criminal, and without a doubt a man who could be placed in prison for his actions and choices.

  But everything I did, I did with honor.

  And I never made a promise I wasn’t able to keep.

  SIENNA

  November 15th, 2014

  I believed most people on this earth were living a life not of their choosing, but one of settling for what it was they were convinced they were entitled to. Their quality of life was directly tied to their belief in their self-worth.

  It saddened me that a world full of women with minimal self-respect settled for substandard treatment at the hand of less than honorable men, and did so for the simple reason that they didn’t believe they were better than what it was they were receiving.

  I knew I had made some pretty poor choices in my lifetime regarding men, but my choice to wait as long as I had to for Vince to accept me as a lover proved to be the best decision I had ever made. Following my father’s advice of being persistent had provided me with the best man I believed this world could or would ever produce.

  I had always hoped one day I would find a man that would not only be handsome, but would share my views on life, love, and hopefully, books. After twenty-six years I had all but given up, realizing finding someone capable of pleasing me fully would be impossible. There was no doubt in my mind that a qualified man existed somewhere on earth, but I had all but decided he was on another continent somewhere and probably speaking a different language.

  I was now living my lifelong fantasy with Vince, and he had proven to be everything I had always dreamed of.

  And more.

  He cocked an eyebrow comically. His facial hair was several inches long now, and I was quickly finding out just how well his beard length was directly connected to my pussy’s on button. Each time I noticed his beard had grown a little fuller, I’d become a little wetter, and it would happen a lot quicker.

  I loved doing things with Vince and spending time with him, but no differently than an alcoholic who had just came off a two year dry spell only to take that first drink and eventually go on a full-blown drunken bender, I felt if he was in my presence I needed to be fucking him.

  And his beard stood as all the proof I needed.

  As his mouth continued to move and his hands gestured in one direction or the other, my mind wandered to thoughts of him shoving me full of dick. I was convinced if the entire population on earth was getting fucked the way Vince was fucking me, world peace would only be a few strokes of a thick cock away.

  There was no doubt in my mind if Lizzie Borden was being fucked by Vince, she would have never swung the fateful axe.

  If a woman is being fucked right, happiness soon follows.

  His mouth continued to move, but my mind was elsewhere. As his hand massaged his beard while he talked, I stared as if possessed by sexual demons. All I heard was Fuck me, Sienna. Fuck me, Sienna… regardless of what it was he was actually saying.

  He really needed to shave.

  Well, either that or crawl over the table and fuck me.

  “Huh?” I said as I shook my head from side-to-side.

  “What part didn’t you get?” he asked.

  “I uhhm. I think I had a spasm or something. I didn’t hear anything. I was watching your mouth move, but I didn’t hear anything,” I said.

  “Catch anything about the book I’m reading?” he asked.

  I shook my head and shrugged an apology.

  Leaning back in the chair, he slowly raised his hand to his chin. As he massaged his beard, he scrunched his brow and silently stared until it appeared he wanted more. With his eyes still fixed on mine, he leaned forward and rested his muscular arms on the edge of the table. His eyes were an odd color of green but were lightly sprinkled with little brown specks, and all but made me become a helpless and hopeful little girl each time he opened them wide. I gazed back at him blankly in admiration, all the while hearing my heartbeat and fearing he could do the same. I tried to turn away, but my eyes remained locked on his as if he was in control.

  In all reality, he was.

  “No shit?” he asked. “Nothing?”

  “Sorry,” I said with a smile.

  “I’ll be damned,” he said. “Just went deaf for a minute, huh?”

  I grinned at the sight of him and did my best to change the subject. “So what are you reading?”

  “What’s so funny?” he asked.

  I attempted to wipe the grin from my face and remain in his good graces. “Nothing.”

  “What are you smiling about?” he asked.

  “About? Uhhm, nothing. Not about anything. I dunno, maybe because of something, I guess. Sorry,” I stammered.

  He pushed his cup of coffee to the side of the table and turned his palm upward. “Because…”

  “You really want to know?” I asked.

  He relaxed into the back of his chair and cleared his throat lightly. “Enlighten me, sure.”

  “Because you’re fucking me right,” I said.

  He coughed a laugh and leaned forward slightly. “Is there a wrong way?”

  I flipped my hair over my shoulders and leaned forward, grinning the entire time. “Believe me, there are plenty of wrong ways, and it appears you don’t know any of them.”

  “And being fucked right makes you smile?” he asked.

  “You ever seen a girl who has CBF?” I asked.

  He shifted his eyes down to the table and shrugged his shoulders. “Guess I don’t know what that is.”

  “Chronic Bitch Face,” I said as I pursed my lips and narrowed my gaze.

  “See women like that all the time,” he said with a laugh.

  “Well,” I responded as I raised my coffee cup. “They’re not getting fucked right.”

  He nodded his head and grinned.

  “And women like this,” I paused and grinned a big cheesy grin. “They’re getting all the dick they need.”

  “And you?” he asked.

  With each index finger, I pressed the corners of my mouth upward until it hurt, doing my best to create a smile like The Joker on Batman.

  He raised his hand to his face, pressed his palm against his beard, and winked.

  “That’s good to know. So, what’s the latest masterpiece or flop in the world of Independent authors?” he asked.

  “Masterpiece? Loving Mr. Daniels, by Brittainy Cherry,” I responded.

  “Good?” he asked.

  “Words can’t describe it. I’m thinking I’m just going to take a few pictures of the tears I shed when I read it and post them. It’s a fucking masterpiece,” I said.

  “It’s about time you read a good one,” he said with a nod.

  “Did you finish the one about the guy with cancer?” I asked.

  “Sure did. Same thing. A fucking masterpiece. In the end she was…”

  He paused and shook his head.

  “I’m not going to ruin it. You’ll read it soon enough,” he said.

  “Started anything new?” I asked.

  He nodded his head. “The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo. You know, I heard a lot about it, but never read it for some reason. I never really got into those kinds of books, but this motherfucker’s good.”

  “It sure is. How far along are you?” I asked.

  “Half,” he said.

  I nodded my head. “You’ll love it.”

  “Have to beat anybody up this week?” I asked, coughing out a laugh as I did so.

  He shook his head and started to laugh, almost choking on his water as he did so. “No. But I pushed a guy down some steps on accident.”

  “Really? By accident?” I asked.

  He eventually stopped laughing and told the story. “I to
ld him I was going to, and I grabbed his shoulders and acted like I was about to shove him. He was some Romanian dude, and he was wearing one of those shiny fucking track suits. So, I grabbed him, pushed him a little to add some incentive, and the fucker slipped out of my hands and fell down the steps. Those shiny jackets are slippery as fuck.”

  “Did he pay up?” I asked.

  “Like a fucking slot machine. As soon as I got to the bottom of the steps, he was reaching for his wallet,” he said.

  “Well, I guess that’s good,” I said.

  It didn’t bother me that Vince did what he did for a living. In his own words, he forced people to realize the responsibility associated with making a promise. Most of the broken promises he dealt with had to do with money, and he simply made sure they met their part of the commitment they had already agreed to. In his mind he was teaching people to be moral.

  “And yesterday, a couple of one hundred and ten pound twin meth heads who owed a guy thirteen grand and hadn’t paid him a dime had a box with about thirty grand worth of meth and twenty-five grand in cash in it when I showed up. But they didn’t make one phone call to try and pay for the dope that got them there. I fucking swear,” he said.

  “Drug dealers without morals,” I said as I shrugged my shoulders.

  “Men without a moral code. It doesn’t matter the profession,” he said.

  I guess not,” I said.

  I waved at the waitress as she walked past. We had been at the restaurant long enough after dinner that we’d changed waitresses.

  “I need coffee,” I said as she walked up to the table.

  “Make it two, please,” Vince said.

  “Cream or sugar?” she asked.

  “Black on both,” he responded.

  Vince paid attention to all of the details. I liked it that he knew how I liked my coffee, noticed what perfume I was wearing, and remembered the year of car I drove. He recalled what jeans or outfits I wore on certain days, and made reference to them later, describing the time, place, and article of clothing. It was nice to think a man had enough interest in me to remember things about me. As with most things about Vince, his actions and his manner of living reminded me of my father.

  The waitress quickly returned with two cups of coffee. After thanking her and sliding one of them toward my side of the table, Vince raised his cup to his mouth and took a sip.