by Evelyn Glass
My tongue felt heavy in my mouth, but I finally managed to speak again.
“You motherfucker!” I snarled, and pushed back the covers to scramble over the bed towards him. I might have been half–naked, but I could still fight, and what better time to take him out then when he least expected it. He probably thought that I was still bleary from the drugs, but that’s where he was—
“Ow, fuck!” I reached the end of the bed and went to put my feet on the ground, but as soon as I did so, I found my knees buckling and giving out from underneath me. My head was screaming—I had never felt pain like that before in my life. I dropped to my knees and grasped my head in my hands, desperately trying to massage out the pinpricks of white–hot agony that had appeared over what felt like every inch of my scalp. Before I knew it, Breaker was on the ground next to me, his drink forgotten.
“They gave you some pretty heavy stuff,” he remarked, tucking his hands beneath my armpits and pulling me upright. “You should sleep it off.”
“What, and let you watch me?” I snarled, wrenching myself out of his grasp at once. His hands were warm and gentle, and I was surprised at the care with which he moved me—as though he actually gave a shit. I pushed the thought from my head. This wasn’t the kind of situation where I could expect kindness, and I wasn’t going to imagine it where it wasn’t there.
“I was making sure you didn’t choke or something,” he shrugged. “Come on, get back into bed.”
I dived beneath the covers again, pulling them up and over my body to make sure he wasn’t getting a show. I didn’t care if he’d paid for me, if he felt like he was owed a show, he was going to have to put up with the fact that I planned to fight him at every turn. He shouldn’t have picked me to take home if he wanted someone easy.
“I’ll get you something to drink,” he suggested, and vanished for a moment out of the bedroom; I looked around, wishing that I was coherent enough to get out of bed and make a break for it while he was away. But every movement came with another stark reminder that I was fucked up beyond repair for the time being, and the only thing that would make me feel better was rest. I looked around the room—it seemed oddly impersonal, like a hotel, and I wondered if he actually lived here or if he simply rented out the place so he wouldn’t have to take the inebriated women he no doubt planned to bring back here too far.
He returned a few seconds later, and to my surprise, handed me a glass of orange juice. I sniffed it carefully before I took a grateful sip. There were a lot of things that it could have been spiked with which I wouldn’t have smelled, but at the same time, I was painfully thirsty. It was fresh, cold, and quenching. I felt better once it had been swallowed, chasing some of the fuzz off my tongue.
“Thanks,” I muttered. Maybe…maybe I had misread this situation? I mean, I knew that it still was pretty far from good, but perhaps there was something here. Maybe Breaker wasn’t the complete piece of shit jerk that I thought he was. I hated myself for even giving it the time of day—the thought spun around my head, and I tried to hold on to it, hold on to the ounce of hope that this wasn’t exactly what it seemed to be. I didn’t know why he had bothered to buy me, but maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t because he wanted to do unspeakable things to me.
But I had spent long enough as a cop to know, in my heart, that it didn’t work like that with guys like Breaker. He probably didn’t know the meaning of the word “selfless.” I doubted he’d done anything in his entire life that hadn’t directly benefitted him in some way. This was probably just another one of his sick fucking plots, and he was just playing a long game with me to get me feeling safe and sound before he pounced with something unthinkable. I eyed him suspiciously as I chugged the juice, and felt the intense pain in my head begin to recede slightly. I handed him the glass when I was done, and nodded in thanks. He flashed me a tight half–smile in acknowledgement, and took the glass away, dumping it on a sideboard at the other side of the room. He slumped back into his chair and observed me for a second; I forced myself upright, and met his gaze. And what came out of his mouth next confirmed to me that I was dealing with a world–class piece of shit.
Chapter Six
She had the covers pulled up to her chin, making sure that I couldn’t see any part of her. The way she was looking at me—the fear in her eyes—I knew she was just waiting for me to launch into something awful. I had no intention of hurting her, none at all, but part of me was pissed that she’d even think that way about me. Fuck, she’d been the one to arrest me all those times; she knew better than anyone that I wasn’t exactly the human–trafficking type.
“Does anyone know I’m here?” Her voice was soft, her eyes wide as she spoke. She looked so different than what I was used to seeing from her. The last few times we’d encountered each other, she’d been in full uniform, hair scraped back into a ponytail beneath her standard–issue hat and every wrinkle ironed out of her clothes. She looked softer now, with her dark hair curling down to her shoulders, the strap of the dress shifted slightly to the side so that I could almost see her nipple. She noticed it and shifted so that she was – well, as decent as she could be in that horror show – then looked to me for an answer.
“No one, except the guys who were there last night,” I replied. I didn’t know what I was planning to do with her—I mean, I had no intentions of hurting her, but it wasn’t like I could go back on straight–up purchasing a woman from an auction. And what, would those guys vouch for me? They probably thought I’d spent the whole night peeling her out of that dress and getting her to bend to my every whim. They had no reason to think I wasn’t.
“So there are witnesses?” She raised her eyebrows. I could tell she was testing me, and I bristled in annoyance. Damn, I was trying to help her out, and here she was, treating me as though I was nothing more than some kind of rapist piece of shit.
“Yeah, but good luck getting any of them to testify,” I replied tersely, running my hand over my head as I spoke. “If anyone asks them, they’ll say that you left with me of your own accord.”
“The fuck?” She wrinkled her nose up. “But they—“
“Unless they have a kink for getting arrested for human trafficking, you’re not going to get any of them on your side.” I held my hands up, a mock–apologetic expression on my face. “Sorry to break it to you.”
“Shit,” she muttered to herself, and I could see the flash of panic across her face. She quickly wiped it clean and turned back to me.
“If you let me go now, I won’t tell anyone about this,” she tried to reason with me, her tone soft and encouraging. “Just…let me walk out of here. No questions asked.”
“Yeah, sure,” I agreed. “And let you take me in for the fourth time?”
She pursed her lips at me briefly, and I could tell she was pissed that her attempts to get around me weren’t exactly successful.
“Besides,” I pointed out. “No one’s going to testify that you didn’t leave with me of your own accord. You want that attached to your permanent record? That you hooked up with a criminal you’d arrested a bunch of times? That you just couldn’t resist my bad–boy charm?”
She flopped down on the bed, and I could see her mind ticking over, trying to slot the pieces together. She was probably still half out of it from whatever drugs they’d given her while she was being held backstage. I was stunned, to be honest, that she was even slightly coherent. I watched as she tried to come up with another way out of this, and failed. She was resigned.
“Why the fuck did you buy me?” She muttered. “You must hate me more than anyone in the world.”
“You’re goddamn right,” I agreed. I didn’t want to admit, not even to her, that I hadn’t done this out of some sense of revenge. I couldn’t say it aloud to her, not yet. Because then I would have to admit the real reason that I’d done this. And coming to terms with that—a notion that had been beating around the back of my head for as long as I could remember, since I’d first met Thaddeus all those years ago�
��was harder than keeping her on the hook for a few minutes longer.
“Can I have a shower?” She asked, looking around. “I feel gross.”
“Bathroom’s through here,” I jerked my head to the door next to me. “Do whatever. But I’m coming in there with you.”
“What? No!” She staring at me as though I’d told her I was going to pull out her fingernails one by one, which was particularly funny in that ridiculous failure of a dress
“You’re not getting away that easily,” I raised my eyebrows at her. “I’m not done with you yet.”
“What, you think I was gonna—“
“Try and climb out the window and make a run for it? Yeah, more or less.” I filled in the blanks for her. “Remember, you arrested me all those times. I know exactly what you’re capable of, and you’re not getting away from me that easy.”
“Fine,” she muttered. “Do you have a robe or something I can change into? This dress…”
She plucked at the pleather tersely, clearly pissed that it was even still on her body. I let out a sigh and shrugged.
“Sure,” I reached into the wardrobe that was sitting next to me, and quickly went through the handful of clothes I’d dumped in there the night before. I tossed her a t–shirt, one big and baggy enough to cover her up, Well, mostly.
“Take this,” I suggested. She held it up in front of her and inspected it for a moment, looking grossed out by the thought of wearing it in front of me. But it was better than the dress—even she seemed to recognize that—and she clambered out of bed and made a dash for the bathroom.
“Can I at least get undressed in peace?” she shouted at me, and I ran my hands over my face. Goddamn, but why did she have to make things so fucking difficult?
“Sure,” I sighed. I listened carefully, making sure she kept the door open as she stripped down; I caught sight of the red dress landing in the doorway, and felt my cock stirring in my pants. Fuck. I had to fight the urge to peer around the door and catch sight of her. I heard her climbing into the shower and switching it on, and tugging the curtain across for a little privacy.
“You can come in now,” she called, and I entered the bathroom, putting down the seat and perching on the edge. I could see the shape of her through the curtain; I was just looking to make sure she wasn’t trying to pull off any bullshit, I told myself, that was it. I certainly wasn’t eyeing her up, watching the way her slim form moved back and forth behind the curtain. The light was streaming through the window in such a way that I could make out her silhouette almost perfectly; she couldn’t see me looking, but I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. I forced myself to look away, and my gaze landed on the panties that were sitting, cast aside, on the floor only a few inches from my feet. They were very small and plain, black cotton. I was bewildered that she’d managed to hide them under the bandage of that dress, but clearly she had, somehow. I imagined her ass in them, imagined inching them down her gorgeous body once and for all…
I shook the thoughts from my head. I was just horny after deciding to white–knight it out of the club the evening before. I didn’t want her, I just wanted someone. My dick was rock hard in my jeans now, and it just made sense to reach down and squeeze the head through the rough denim. Not like that would make it any easier to wait. After all, I had paid for her. I had kept her safe. I found myself thinking of stepping into the shower and taking what I’d paid for – and then she pulled back the curtain.
Chapter Seven
I never intended to let it get that far, I can promise you that. When I went into that shower, I just wanted some time to myself, a few minutes to think things over and put another plan in place.
If I knew guys like Breaker—and I did—I could say for damn certain that the best way to keep them distracted was to offer them up the one thing they couldn’t say no to: pussy. Breaker had left two women at the bar the night before, and he hadn’t laid a finger on me as I slept—he was probably backed up to all hell, distracted by how horny he was. I could see him through the thin shower curtain watching me as I showered, and I made sure to put on a show for him—bending this way and that, twisting and shifting and bending to make sure that he was getting an eyeful. I needed him distracted. I needed him thinking of something beyond keeping me here against my will. I wasn’t used to using my sexuality to get what I wanted, but it wasn’t hard to guess the ways he wanted me to move. I had made sure to leave my panties on full display, and had no intention of putting them on once I was out of the shower.
It helped a lot that I had always…well, I didn’t want to admit it, but I had always thought that Breaker was pretty cute. For a criminal, that is. I worked with a lot of assholes, a lot of real pieces of shit, and most of them wore their lives of awfulness on their faces—cuts, scars, bruises, line from years of smoking like a chimney and drinking like a fish. Breaker, though I knew he did all of that as much as the rest of them, still had his looks. He must have known that they worked in his favor; maybe he just liked being the only guy that women around him paid any attention to. He didn’t exactly have a whole lot of competition in his line of work.
I pulled back the curtain, and looked down at him; he was staring at the floor, as though trying to convince himself that he wasn’t ogling me. I swung out a hip and stood there, peering at him, until he finally looked back at me. He didn’t even bother keeping his eyes on mine; he let his gaze coast down the entirety of my body, wet and dripping as I was. I put my hands on my hips and pushed my chest out, then pushed a strand of soaked hair from my eye, and pointed towards the shirt on the floor.
“Can you pass me that?” I asked, my voice soft. I needed him to drop his guard, then I would be out of here. He leaned down and picked it off the floor, and held it toward me—but nowhere within my reach. Fine. I bent forward from the waist to take it from him, making sure that I brushed up close to him as I did so. My breasts were hanging close to his face, and he let out a deep breath as he glanced at them, heavy enough that I could feel the heat of it against my skin.
“Thanks,” I murmured, stepping out of the shower. I leaned down to pick up my panties, making sure that he could see my pussy and my ass. I heard him let out a small groan from behind me, and I knew it was working. I just needed to seal the deal…
I swiveled around, holding the shirt protectively against my chest, and leaned down to him. I put my hands on his shoulders, letting the fabric drop to the floor below me. He forced himself to look up and into my eyes; I met his gaze. And then, I leaned in and kissed him.
I’d intended to kiss him, maybe grope him, and then run for it while he was busy thinking about what he’d get me to do next. That wasn’t what happened. He surged up off the seat, making me backpedal across the floor until my back collided with the closet door. I made a small squeaking sound, which was all the leverage he needed to slide his tongue into my mouth. I tried to push back against him, but his thigh slipped between my legs, and all the fear and adrenaline coalesced into sheer, desperate need. I wrapped my arms around him and stopped fighting; I pulled myself into him, opening my mouth wider to him. His hands ran up and down my bare thighs, and growled against my mouth.
He leaned down and began kissing my neck, running his teeth across my throat; he finally reached my breasts, catching one in his hand, and nipping the nipple between his lips, tugging at it until it grew hard. I moaned and let my head fall back, gripping his hair and holding him in place. The panic and stress and intensity of the last twelve hours seemed to drop away, funneled into that cathartic moment. His hands travelled down my back, gripping my ass, and pushing his quickly–hardening cock against me. I could feel the size of it through his pants, and I found myself groping for it, wanting to feel the strength of it in my hands.
I couldn’t get enough of him—he tasted of whisky and smoke, and smelled sweetly of some kind of aftershave—had he put that on for me? What an old romantic he was. Suddenly, he pulled me away from the wall and turned me around, placing his hand on my lower ba
ck to push me down. I gripped the edge of the bathtub for support, and spread my legs—I was already wet, my pussy aching for him. I heard him rip a condom open, and then the tip of him was pressed against me.
“I’ve been wanting to do this since the first moment I laid eyes on you,” he growled, his voice low and animalistic. “When I paid for you, I paid for this. Isn’t that right?” I arched my back, trying to drive him into me, but he dodged me easily. “Say it.”
