Money Shot: Selected Sinners MC Romance

by Hildreth, Scott

I felt odd in the rental car I was using, but trying to blend in while driving my old truck or riding my motorcycle would have been impossible. Being dressed in my button down shirt and dark blue jeans did very little to make me comfortable, but again, in this particular neighborhood I realized the importance of fitting in. With my line of employment, the fewer people who witness my activities the better off everyone was. After what seemed like an eternity, but was only an hour and a half according to my new watch, an Audi sedan pulled into the driveway.

  After the garage door closed, I patiently waited a few minutes and proceeded with my ritual. I confirmed there was a round in the chamber, secured the Glock pistol in my holster, and began to open the car door. The sight of him walking down the sidewalk was a surprise, but a welcomed one. I turned and glanced over my shoulder as he continued down the walk. Apparently, he was walking to his mailbox, which was only a matter of ten yards behind where I was parked, but on the other side of the street.

  Dressed in jeans, a pull over camouflage sweatshirt, and military style boots, he didn’t at all appear like I had expected him to, especially after studying his photos at the attorney’s office. Obviously a physically fit man, I suspected he may put up a hell of a fight or try to run, but there was no way he was going to outrun a bullet.

  As he removed mail from the mailbox and inspected each individual piece, I quietly pulled open the car door and took a few steps in his direction. Half way between the car and where he was standing, he turned and looked over his shoulder.

  “Something I can help you with?” he asked in an obviously aggravated tone of voice.

  “Come on, Rudy. I’m Paul. Paul, you’re acting like you don’t remember me.” I said as I turned my palms upward and continued to walk in his direction.

  In the decade that I had been employed in my profession, I had collected debts from all walks of life including businessmen, criminals, the accused, the convicted, drug dealers, drug users, and everyone in between. Although neighborhoods like the one I was in were uncommon and lower class areas were more frequently the hiding places of my targets, I never changed my defensive posture regardless. A man willing to walk away from a $30,000 debt and tell his attorney to fuck off, knowing all the while I was eventually going to pay him a visit was a threat regardless of where he chose to reside.

  The difference for me was not where Rudy Vallencio lived, but that he was known to be a collector of firearms, and more than likely would be armed if he was in the home. I needed to keep him outside for our negotiations if possible.

  With his back still facing me, he turned his head toward the house as if I hadn’t even spoken. Assuming I was going to need to say something else to keep him within earshot, I took a shallow breath and prepared to continue our one-sided conversation.

  As I saw the mail fall to the ground in front of him, I realized he wasn’t planning on talking.

  Everything went into slow motion. The sound of a vehicle’s squeaky brakes behind me, the fluttering of the mail to the ground, his pivoting toward me, and the pulling his pistol from the waist of his jeans were all as clear and precise as if they were a scene from a movie. The sound of his gun firing and a scream from behind me were equally – and unmistakably – clear, and everything happened before I was able to clear my Glock from my holster.

  My fear was now a reality.

  I had become a twat.

  I cleared the Glock from the holster, instinctively dropped into a defensive crouch, and fired the weapon twice. The sound of three gunshots rang echoed, and Rudy fell to the ground.

  Fuck.

  I ran the thirty or so feet which separated us, picked his pistol up, and searched him for additional weapons. The two gunshot wounds – one in his abdomen and one in his chest – were each bleeding profusely. The sound of shouting from behind me caused me to turn around, and I was shocked to see a US Mail Jeep, complete with a bleeding mail delivery person inside.

  Fuck.

  Rudy wasn’t dead, but he would be in a short period of time. The woman in the Jeep appeared to be shot in the leg. I ran to the vehicle and gazed down at her leg.

  Fuck.

  I pulled my knife, cut the sleeves off my shirt, and tied them together. After tying a tourniquet to her upper thigh, I asked if she had a phone. Relatively alert, and surprisingly calm for having just been shot, she pointed to her purse.

  “In…in my…purse. Thank you…for…saving…me,” she said.

  I reaching into the purse, removed the phone, pulled out her pack of cigarettes, lit two, and handed her one.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  I took a long much needed drag on the cigarette, inhaled, and let the smoke fill my lungs completely. I exhaled the cloud out into the winter air, inhaled another long drag, and held it deep in my lungs. As the smoke burned against my lungs and I felt the pressure build, I made the call no one percenter ever wants to make.

  I called the police.

  SIENNA

  January 13th, 2015

  Police cars, crime scene tape, and a firetruck aren’t the things a woman wants to see when her respective other calls and tells her to come and come quick.

  “They may charge me with murder” wasn’t very comforting to hear, either.

  I pulled the car right up to the edge of the crime scene tape, got out, and shifted my eyes toward the crime scene. Countless police officers, police cars, firemen, and what seemed to be an off-duty ambulance were all forced into a one hundred foot square area. It looked like what my father often described as a Mongolian clusterfuck. I shook my head, scanned the area for Vince, and ducked under the yellow tape.

  “Ma’am, you’re going to need to step behind the tape, this is a crime scene,” an officer said in a demanding tone as he gestured toward the tape with his hand.

  I disregarded his demand and continued walking toward Vince as if I was a crime scene professional.

  “The dead are incapable of demanding justice, Ma’am, but it’s my responsibility to see to it that you stay out of my crime scene so I can see to it that justice is served,” he said as he puffed his chest out.

  The officer narrowed his gaze and glared. I wondered how many times he’d rehearsed the cheesy line waiting for an opportunity to use it. Dressed in jeans, Ugg boots, a sweatshirt, and Victoria’s Secret hoodie, I didn’t quite look the part, but I really didn’t care. As far I was concerned, Officer Responsibility needed to fuck off. I’d read enough books I could fake my way through some yellow tape, and I was sure of it.

  I placed my hands on my hips and gazed up and into his eyes. “Well, in 1879 James Madison drafted a little document I like to refer to as the Fourth Amendment to the Constitution of the United States, and it’s my responsibility to my client to see to it that justice is served in respect to unreasonable search and seizure, and it’s further my responsibility to remind him to exercise his right to remain silent and make every effort to avoid any police coerced self-incrimination in what is undoubtedly a stressful time. Now, with all due respect to you and your crime scene, excuse me, Officer,” I said as I stepped past him.

  “Counsel,” he said with a tip of his hat.

  Standing beside a police cruiser talking to an officer, Vince stood in a sleeveless black shirt with a cigarette dangling from his lips. A habit he had given up two years prior, the stress associated with shooting someone had probably caused so much mental anguish that he had to have a cigarette just to keep his sanity.

  “Not another word,” I said as I walked up to where he was standing.

  Vince turned to face me, glanced at my boots, shook his head, and grinned. “We’re done here.”

  I turned toward the officer. “I’m his legal counsel.”

  He glanced down at my boots, slowly shifted his eyes up along my frame, and locked them on mine when our eyes met.

  “Is that right?” he asked.

  I nodded my head. “Sure is.”

  “Well, doesn’t look like he’s going to need any,” the officer
said with a light laugh. “He clearly shot this shit bird in self-defense.”

  He turned toward Vince, nodded his head, and extended his hand. “Appreciate your help with the report.”

  Vince tossed the cigarette at his feet, blew out a cloud of smoke, and shook the officer’s hand. I was thoroughly confused. From what Vince had said when he called from the mail lady’s phone, he was involved in a shoot-out with a guy he was trying to convince to pay his debt. He was, at least at that time, worried he may be charged with murder.

  Seeing his smiling face, jovial mood, and lack of overall concern made me immediately feel comfortable that something must have changed drastically. The officer clutched his notepad, turned, and walked toward another officer. After he was far enough away from where we stood that he was incapable of hearing us, I shrugged my shoulders and shook my head.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “Self-defense, I’m free to go,” he said.

  “Nice shirt,” I said as I nodded my head toward what I could now see was formerly his nice black dress shirt.

  He glanced at each tattooed arm, flexed his biceps, and grinned as he did so. “Cut off the sleeves to make a tourniquet,” he said.

  “I fucking love you,” I whispered.

  “I love you,” he responded.

  “So we can go?” I asked.

  He glanced around the chaotic scene and nodded his head as he turned toward me.

  “The mail lady gave her testimony to the officers before they got her hauled away and it matched mine perfectly. Hell, they’re calling me a fucking hero. The dead guy had a few outstanding warrants, the gun he used was stolen, and I fired in self-defense. I told them why I was here,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. “And they didn’t give a fuck.”

  I nodded my head and forced a smile. I was far from happy, but very relieved he was unharmed and wasn’t going to be arrested.

  “My gun’s registered and I have a permit for it. His was stolen. He shot the mail lady, and only after he shot the mail lady did I even pull my gun. I’m free to go,” he said.

  “He shot at you first?” I asked.

  He widened his eyes as he shook his head lightly. “Actually he got two shot off.”

  I stood and stared. “You said you always shoot first. Always. You said there was nothing for me to worry about, ever. You said ever, Vince”

  “Yeah, we probably need to have a talk,” he said.

  “About?” I asked as I turned toward the Continental.

  “Fucking,” he said. “We need to slow down on the fucking. It’s making me soft.”

  “Not an option,” I said over my shoulder. “I’ll just buy you a bullet proof vest.”

  “I’m being serious,” he said.

  “So am I,” I responded as I began to walk toward my car.

  So am I.

  VINCE

  February 14th, 2015

  Sienna and I had continued our ritual of eating out on Sunday’s for lunch, and often went together to my mother’s house in the late afternoon for dinner. When the weather was nice, we typically met a the establishment, because I was on my motorcycle, and even though the warm winter days were warm enough for me, they were never warm enough for her. On this particular day, the forecast had called for cold enough weather that my bike was locked in her garage, and we intended to ride in her car.

  I stepped from the shower, wrapped myself in a towel, and walked toward the vanity to shave my neck. My beard was now pretty long, and according to Sienna, was the best aphrodisiac ever. I never understood the fascination some women had with beards, but I wasn’t one to argue with her, especially after she described herself as weak when it came to having sex with me while I had a full beard.

  She had proven to be the best possible sexual match for me, and although my deep sexual desires were never met – or even discussed – with Natalie, I had no deep desires with Sienna, everything was a reality.

  After shaving my neck, pulling on a pair of jeans, and grabbing a white tee shirt, I walked from the bedroom and into the living room while unfolding the shirt. Sienna appeared comfortable on her back with her Kindle held in the air, still dressed in a pair of pink plaid pajamas and matching pink plaid house shoes. Hanging over her shoulders and draped onto the couch, her hair looked perfect, as always.

  Engrossed in her book, and unaware I had even entered the room, she continued to read as I walked across the room. As I pulled the shirt over my head, I paused and said what I was thinking.

  “You’re pretty,” I said.

  She lowered her Kindle onto her chest, draped her head over the side of the couch, and cleared her throat. “I’m always prettier with your big dick in my mouth. You know that, right?”

  There was no doubt Sienna was different than most women in almost all respects, and sex certainly wasn’t excluded from the differences. She didn’t care much for me making slow, kind, caring passionate love to her.

  Sienna liked being fucked.

  And, as fate would have it, I liked fucking her.

  I pulled my shirt over my head, unzipped my jeans, and admired her for a short moment. The mid-day sunlight made her hair even more beautiful than it was in its absence. Impatient, as always, she released the Kindle from her grasp, opened her mouth, and extended both her thumbs in the air.

  “Do it,” she said.

  I really didn’t need any more of an invitation to stick my cock in her mouth. My only problem, if it was truly a problem, was that I was incapable of lasting more than a few minutes while watching her suck my dick, and for whatever reason, I was incapable of closing my eyes while she did so. It simply felt too damned good and she looked great doing it. As a result, almost immediately following her performance on me orally, I would pull out of her mouth and start fucking her. I suspected she was well aware wrapping her soft lips around the head of my dick wasn’t a prerequisite to having sex, but her doing it always seemed to lead to me fucking her.

  Her consistent offering to suck my cock stood as a pretty solid indication that she used her oral skills to coerce me to have sex with her.

  Either way, the process was something we both seemed to enjoy immensely.

  I kicked my jeans to the side, gripped my cock in my hand, and began to stroke it while I walked toward her. Laying on her back with her head dangling off the side of the couch, I knew not only that I’d be able to force myself deep into her throat with her in that position, but that I wouldn’t last a matter of minutes.

  As I watched the head of my dick slip past her lips, I considered closing my eyes and face fucking her into a whimpering little pile, but I couldn’t force myself to either shut my eyes or turn my head the other direction.

  She was right.

  She was prettier with my cock in her mouth.

  After a few seconds of her sucking and licking masterfully, I began to buck my hips back and forth. Within ten seconds, I was burying my cock deep in her throat, and she eagerly accepted every inch of it.

  Watching my shaft disappear into her mouth provided a sense of satisfaction that was not only sexual, sensual, and fueled my dark and dirty inner being, but provided confirmation of just how compatible we truly were. Sienna liked having my cock in her mouth just as much as I liked it there.

  And I really liked it there.

  A few more slow strokes into her mouth, and I felt my scrotum begin to tighten.

  “Time to switch it up,” I said as I pulled myself from her mouth.

  “Fuck my mouth,” she said as she turned her head to the side and blinked her big brown eyes. “Please.”

  “You little fucking tease,” I said. “Get up.”

  “I’m not a tease,” she said as she stood, wiping her mouth free of saliva with the back of her hand.

  “A tease teases. I want that cock in my mouth,” she said as she kicked her shoes to the side and pushed her pajamas and underwear off in one effortless motion.

  “I want world peace, and eighty degree median tempe
rature, and gas prices to plummet below a dollar a gallon,” I said. “But we don’t always get what we want.”

  She huffed out a sigh, bent over the couch, and acted as though I was cheating her out of something she was truly entitled to. With her cute little ass sticking up in the air, and her pussy right in front of me for the taking, I stroked my cock with one hand and slapped her ass with the other.

  “Sorry, but I’m not fucking you from behind,” I said.

  She glanced over her shoulder and puffed out a pouty lip. “Why?”

  I rubbed my beard with my left hand and continued to stroke my cock with my right. “Because I love you.”

  Her eyes shifted back and forth between my cock and my beard. After glancing at each a few times, she sighed heavily. “If you truly loved me, you’d just shove that in me right now.”

  I released my cock, reached around her waist, and lifted her from the floor. “When we’re done, tell me if you hated this.”

  “Hate what?” she asked.

  I lifted her into my arms fully, walked into her bedroom, and lowered her onto the bed, facing up. As she peered up and into my eyes, I crawled on top of her and began to kiss her deeply. With our lips pressed firmly against each other and our tongues intertwined, she began to moan in pleasure.

  Purposefully making sure there was no penetration, at least not yet, I moved my mouth along her jaw and began to kiss her neck while grinding my hips against hers. A quick glance toward her face produced an image of her biting her lip and writhing in suppressed sexual agony.

  My mouth slowly slid along her skin from her shoulder to her chest, kissing along the surface of her skin the entire way, and eventually came to a stop at her breasts. Kissing her nipples and massaging her breasts in my hands, I pressed against her firmly and ground my hip bones against hers. In a show of her sexual satisfaction, or quite possibly her frustration, she arched her back and pressed the backs of her shoulders deeply into the comforter. With her perky breast now pushed fully into my mouth, I squeezed the other in my hand and twisted her nipple between my thumb and forefinger.